Rewrites – A Thing to Fear?
I once went to my daughter’s class and spoke about writing. When I asked the teacher what I should cover, specifically, she said rewrites. Apparently, the children thought you wrote a book once and were done! Ha!
Today, I’m going to talk a little bit about rewriting. What I do when I rewrite. I’ve gone through my novel and wrote it all. Beginning, middle, end. For me, a rewrite is the physical returning to the manuscript to make it better, give it that extra special magic that will make the reader fall in love with it.
I know some of you dread rewrites. It is not my favorite part of writing, either. Why? Because I’ve written the manuscript already. I’ve created the characters and the plot and the twists. The manuscript holds no surprises in the rewrite. In the rewrite, the real work begins. I add depth to my descriptions (which is always my weak point J), sometimes I have to flesh out a scene. When something doesn’t work, I have to fix it.
Rewriting is the backbone of writing. I usually rewrite my full length novels no less then five times, making sure words aren’t overused, the characters motivation is solid, continuity is there (you don’t want your heroine in a red dress at the beginning of the scene and blue at the end; or how about eye color changing?).
Rewrites are a chore. But an important chore, not to be feared, but to be accomplished with pride so that you can sit back when you are done, sigh and say that was the book you meant to write!
Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy
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“What do you want from me?”
Perhaps it was ridiculous, Ryen thought. Men never seemed to have a problem with taking what, Here's an excerpt from my novel, The Angel and the Prince - Enemies face off -
“What do you want from me?”
Perhaps it was ridiculous, Ryen thought. Men never seemed to have a problem with taking what, or who, they wanted. Maybe I’m making it more complicated than it should be. He is my prisoner.
She raised a hand to touch his thick mane. Bryce pulled back instantly. Ryen wrapped her fingers tightly in his hair, leaning into his strong chest. “You fear my touch?” she wondered in a soft whisper.
“Loathe is more like it,” he said.
She could feel the lie through his leggings and smiled. “Your body betrays you.”
“Step away from me, witch,” he snarled.
Ryen stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips against his. At first they were immovable, but suddenly they parted and the hot passion he was trying to hide was released. His tongue slipped into her mouth, warring with hers.
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