Happy … Writing Birthday Ft. A Sneak Peek of an Unpublished Work

I don’t remember the exact day that I began writing after the hiatus of my mid-teen years, but I came back to writing sometime during the early fall of 2017. I remember being so excited and so thrilled to just get to work on a story after not writing for years. The joy and energy that new writers possess is something that I absolutely love—and that’s something that most more “seasoned” writers don’t have. (So young writers—enjoy this time, and know that you have such a beautiful gift that shouldn’t ever be despised.)

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So in honor of this writing birthday, I decided to get really honest with you guys—well, maybe transparent would be a better word—and share some of my earlier writings.

Oh dear.

Now, I am sorry to admit that this opening scene was edited, but I don’t know if I even knew how to edit. Actually, I’m pretty sure I didn’t. So let’s walk through this scene, and I’ll make some commentary and how I would edit it now. And an important note: this is in no way critiquing anyone else’s writing other than my own – everyone has their own style, and this is my critique of my own writing and how I would fix it now with my current style. A year from now, I might turn around and think of it in a completely different light. Every single author has his own style, and in writing, it’s not “good” or “bad” based on how someone sees it. So please don’t apply this to yourself.

Okay, deep breaths (and yes, you may laugh—we will laugh together, not at each other, as one of my professors has kindly put it.)

Keep in mind, this is a Civil War novel (don’t ask about research, please), so it’s around 1862 – I think technically April 1862, roundabouts Shiloh, Tennessee. You might know what is about to happen.

                A gunshot rang through the valley.

Oh dear.

Okay, let’s just stop there. For a first sentence … well, there are some positives. This is right into the action, and as a reader, you’re intrigued to see what’s going to happen next. Is this gunshot going to hit the MC? Is danger nearby?

But I question the choice of “rang.” I mean, “ring” is a more positive verb—think of bells ringing, which is usually a joyful sound. Not always, but sometimes. And maybe this gunshot is very far away, but still … a “ring” isn’t what I think when I hear a gunshot. I’d change this to something more like “A gunshot split the silence of the valley.”

Okay, continuing on. Drum roll, intro my original male MC, the man, the myth, the legend …

                Ryan Montgomery felt his horse sidestep beneath him, and he laid a calming hand on the gelding’s neck.  “Easy, lad,” he soothed, scanning the horizon for signs of danger.  The horse tossed his head, irritated by the bit tightening in his mouth.

Okay, I’ve gotta say, the man has a good name—besides the fact “Ryan” is a name from the 20th century. I think I could’ve swung it if it were his mother’s maiden name, but this is the 1860s. *sigh* Okay, onto the rest of it.

Please, young Vanessa, remove the word “felt.” Just let the horse sidestep beneath him. End of story. I also don’t love taglines (“he soothed”), but it’s okay. And I’d reword the “signs of danger.” Better to say something like “the valley remained still.”

Finally, just delete the thing about the horse tossing his head. Unimportant information. If it has to be included, move it up there where he sidesteps.

                Ryan didn’t see any immediate threat, yet he had the eerie feeling that there was indeed danger, lurking somewhere in the shadows where he couldn’t see it.  Too many days in the dark alleys of London had taught him such things.  But Tennessee was completely different.

*gasp with laughter*

I know most of you don’t know Ryan very well, but the whole part about “dark alleys of London” is just cringey. Like, I know I was trying to create intrigue, but please. There’s just so much I could say, but it would take too long. Just delete that entire comment.

Also, just delete this entire paragraph. He already said there wasn’t danger visible, but the suspense is still clear.

                He thought.

Yep, drama.

                It was away from the shame and guilt, away from that cursed profession.  London had reminded him of every failure in his life, and he couldn’t live with that breathing down his neck.  He didn’t know where he was going, but the Lord had promised to lead him, did He not?

Ugh, what is this “it” referring to? This whole paragraph, except for that last sentence, probably needs to be deleted as well. I can’t just start lecturing about his entire past right up front. This needs to be explained through the story, not just infodump in the first page.

If I did keep some of it, I would put something like, “No, this wasn’t London with its dangerous alleys—it was Tennessee. Far from London’s memories of failures, and even if the way wasn’t clear, the Lord had promised to lead, did He not?”

That needs editing too, but it’s much better and more concise.

Also, even with the bad editing, I appreciate young Vanessa’s sound words of advice about the Lord leading. Kind of like the whole Abraham leaving Ur yet not knowing where he was going. I’m pretty sure Ryan didn’t think like that, but ya know, good effort.

                Suddenly, a volley of gunfire sounded.  Not close enough to be aimed at him, he was sure.  The sound was too faint, too faraway, though he knew exactly what that hearing such was.  It was war.  The war that was tearing this beautiful country apart, taking the young and old, stealing them from their lives and families.  And for what?

                *gag*

                Well, boy, sorry to break it, but you can be shot and someone be pretty far away. But okay, maybe it is very far away, and he knows enough about gunshots to know the distance from those dark alleys of London and all that drama. Hehe. But I don’t even know what some of those sentences are trying to say. Something poetic about war?

                Just say it, author. Just say it.

                “More distant gunfire popped—the sound of a war tearing a nation apart at the seams.”

                He’d sworn many a time that he’d never become involved in such a conflict.  War involved suffering.  Pain.  Bloodshed.  Nothing he wanted to see again, everything that he was running away from. 

                Why on earth am I telling people he’s sworn these things? So dramatic. Okay, little Vanessa, don’t tell us everything upfront. You can’t trust readers with all this knowledge. They’ll tear you to pieces on the first page. (Just kidding.)

But really, don’t let everyone know everything on the first page. Just enough to entice and keep them going.

                “A war he’d run from just as he’d run from London.”

                Hehehe, there, we can go back to the boy’s—oh wait, lad’s—ol’ drama.

                He eased back on the horse’s reins, wondering if he should stop.  Where would he go?  Guerrilla warfare was much more common in the Western theater, and he knew that only the God’s grace had he been able to avoid any type of skirmishes while traveling.  Straying off the main road would only result in fighting his way through wilderness where he would surely get lost.

                “Wondering if he should stop …”

                Dear author, wee Vanessa, just say what you’re considering. Don’t tell us he’s wondering. Just say “Should he travel in different direction? Straying off the roadway would lead into wilderness, yet remaining on the thoroughfare held promise of encountering rogue groups of soldiers.”

                The gelding danced beneath him, tugging against the bit.  Indecision ran through Ryan’s mind as the beast’s anxiety only increased his own.  “Lord, show me.  I don’t know,” he said under his breath. 

                Yep, I was still at the obsessed with horses state of my writing. Yay for more horse stuff.

                And here’s more of him telling us he’s worried. Delete that entire second sentence, and just have him pray. Without a tag line.

                The gunfire continued, and he heard shouts.  After a few more moments of rapid gunshots, he heard the dull, gentler rumble of hoof beats.

                “He heard shouts.”

                Ugh.

                “Gunfire continued, mingling with rough shouts—and then came the rumble of hoofbeats.” Also, if the gunfire’s so distant, I don’t think you would hear shouts. *sigh*

                “Come, lad,” he murmured, turning the horse’s head toward the forest.  Whatever was riding toward him was coming quickly.

                What is riding toward him? An antelope herd? A walrus on an elephant? A porcupine army?

                *sigh*

                And why does he think he has to call everything “lad”?

                …

                Okay, let’s just say, “He gritted his teeth and tapped his heels against the horse’s sides, guiding him toward the edge of the trees. “Come, lad.”

                Once off the main road, Ryan pulled the gelding to a stop as the hoofbeats grew louder.  Suddenly, a group of riders crested the hill and came thundering down it.  Yankee soldiers, from the looks of it, their uniforms the deep navy of the US.

                Okay, this first sentence somehow makes us so distant from Ryan. And here’s more suddenly. And just so many extra words.

                Let’s change it to “Ryan eased the gelding to a halt as the shelter of the trees, and only then did the brigade crest the hill, hoofbeats thundering against the tightly-packed earth.

                Deep navy uniforms—Yankees.“

                The Yankees galloped past in a flurry of blue and dust.  After they had passed, he urged his horse back onto the road.  Surely whatever confrontation that had occurred was over.

Wait, so that’s all he has to say about that? He just sits there, not thinking anything? Unlikely. Rework the entire thing with some more horse talk, I think. I assume he’s not just sitting there without a thought in his head as they supposedly dangerous soldiers ride past him.

“The gelding shifted underneath him as the brigade passed in a flurry of dust a blue. Perhaps the conflict was over—or the soldiers were heading to the source.”

                The gelding trotted up the hill, and reaching the top of the rise, slowed.  Ryan’s eyes narrowed, but he saw no danger.  Perhaps he would get through Tennessee without any further interference with soldiers.  By now he was probably closer to northern Mississippi, but he couldn’t be sure, as many of the signposts were missing, taken by soldiers for firewood.

Again, “he saw no danger”? Okay, you can say better things than that. And hey, look at me, using some sort of historical knowledge! The soldiers used signposts for firewood! But would he know that? Maybe.

“The soldiers disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived, and Ryan nudged the gelding back onto the roadway. The vast farmland bore no indication of its location, and no signposts had stood for miles—likely stolen by passing soldiers for firewood.

Ironic, for once again, he was without direction and lost.”

OOOOH WAIT.

(By the way, this is part of why being an author is so much fun. You have these moments of plot ideas and connections that you never thought about before.)

GOD TELLs ABRAHAM TO GO TO UR … AND NOW RYAN DOESN’T KNOW WHERE HE’S GOING, EITHER, BUT THEN THE REST OF THE PLOT CAN INCLUDE THIS THEME, COMING BACK TO FULLY TRUSTING THE LORD, GOING WHERE HE’S CALLED, ETC.

And now I kinda want to try to rework the whole book to include that.

So there’s just a little taste of my old writing, and while there were so many cringey moments, I hope that was helpful for you. And also, though I do cringe at my old work, I have to look back on it with fondness. I was so excited to write, and there was so much honesty and drama and truth in here, even if it was covered with a layer of interesting writing.

So try not to hate on your old writing too badly – yes, mine has its rough spots, but there is a passion there that is beautiful. As I was saying above, everyone has different styles – my editing above was according to my own tastes. Some writers can do the exact opposite of how I just edited that writing, and they pull it off amazingly. So find the style that best suits you, and run with it. Don’t hate your old work. Don’t hate your current work. There is always work to be done, but there is beauty there when you are writing to honor the Lord and obey Him.

So keep on writing, author!