The Art of Revision

(The above pic is the only known photo of Lester, the Revision Duck Mafia's highest paid assassin.)


Between receiving a revision letter from Holly for CASTING STONES and handing out plenty of revision notes myself in my synopsis workshop this week, revising has been on my mind. There are several ways a writer can approach the task of taking someone else's critique and applying it to her work without losing the precious sense of ownership that comes from wringing every single word out of that lively, secret space in her imagination.

I can't tell you how YOU should go about it. I can only tell you what works (and doesn't work) for me. And I can assure you, if you intend to pursue writing as a career, revising will be just as much a way of life as the initial writing itself.

What works for me:

1. Let it sink in: The first 24 hours after getting a critique can be difficult. Not just because I feel like changing my name to Silas and moving to the outer reaches of Mongolia, but because I don't yet have a true sense of direction. The story as I know it now has pitfalls, black holes, and wobbly edges where before it was bright, shining, and whole. I'm afraid the entire house of cards will collapse if I poke at it, so consequently, I have no idea where to start.

Giving myself a day or three to let it sink in, let the panic ease, and let the creativity flow again is wise.

2. Talk it out: Talking through my plot works well for me because it unlocks ideas that were currently circling my brain in silence, waiting for me to acknowledge their existence. I'm careful to talk it out with those who already know my story and whom I trust have the ability to push my budding ideas into something gloriously workable by the end of the convo. This time, I talked plot with Myra, gained some traction, shelved it for another day while my brain busily leaped through ideas, making connections and sparking more ideas, and then I ran the entire thing by Holly, who gave guidance on the final pieces and sent me to my keyboard with her blessing.

The wonderful thing about talking it out, for me, is that it gives me what I need for point #3.

3. Internalize the feedback and make it your own: This is essential. Letting the critique sink in, playing with the new pieces until they fit, and then getting excited about the new and improved direction of the story brings the whole process to life. Now, instead of slogging through pitfalls and applying someone else's thoughts to my manuscript, I'm blazing a path to greater things using someone's feedback as my springboard. The momentum is mine. The passion is mine. The story is mine.

4. Organize the process: I make a plan based on what needs to be accomplished. I like to knock the small stuff out of the way first--word changes, small fixes--and then line up my tasks--layering, scene re-writes, scenes to be added--and do a read-through of the manuscript, putting in the changes as I go. I find this helps me get a sense of the story as a whole and I'm able to keep the continuity of the characters' emotional arcs front and center while I work. That way, when I reach The End, I'm confident the entire manuscript has been tightened and polished to within an inch of its life.

What works for you when you're revising?

Agent Holly's Revision Duck Mafia Strikes Again!

Myra and I long ago realized our agent, Holly Root, had a secret weapon in her rather impressive arsenal: the Revision Duck Mafia. A visit from the RDM goes something like this:

1. First, a missive arrives in your inbox, cleverly disguised as a letter from Agent Holly, bearing the news that, while most of your book was The Awesome, the following fifteen things were verging on The Suckage and must be changed.

2. Second, you take a few days to absorb the news, examine the Suckage parts, and hope you weren't misreading the Awesome bits because if you were, you might as well just give in to your secret longing to go out in a blaze of Cheese Puffs and vodka.

3. Third, you begin revising. Sort of. You revise the easy parts. The ones that you looked at in your initial read-through of the RDM's letter and thought "Hello, genius, how did you miss that?"

4. Fourth, you sort of let the difficult parts simmer. This is the point where Holly's RDM begins flexing its muscle. The RDM frowns on procrastination. They treat waffling with the same vengeful response they give to idiot humans who dare approach their flock without the requisite offering of bread crumbs or a first born male.

5. Fifth, the RDM pays you a little visit. You're sitting at your computer, minding your own business, sort of not revising, when out of nowhere, you feel watched. You look up, and there's a duck. No, really. A duck. Eyeing you with tiny little orbs chock full of hate. It's the RDM's warning shot across the bow. You only get one.

6. Sixth, you revise. In earnest. Because you fear the fuzzy. You really, really do.

Think I made this up? Last time Myra had a revision letter, she was writing on a front porch, wallowing in indecisiveness or angst or procrastination or something the RDM found offensive. She looked up at one point and found herself surrounded by ducks. Hateful, beady-eyed little feathered Revision Duck Mafia members. And she knew. Revise or face the RDM's wrath.

She revised.

Because a wise writer fears the fuzzy.

I've got a revision letter for CASTING STONES. I have no time to dive into it until Friday. You hear that RDM? Friday. I promise. Because I, too, fear the fuzzy.