Revise vs. Edit

I recently completed an extensive revision of my manuscript FINDING OBENO, and like Punxsutawney Phil being yanked from his faux tree stump in the early morning hours, when I finally emerged from my revision cave, I was a bit skittish of natural light.

However, unlike the detested bearer of bad news and extended winters, I did not have the press awaiting my appearance, so I have no triumphant photos of my feat. But trust me, I looked pretty much like this.

While I was busy in my revision cave, my Writer’s Dojo blog was left to languish, but now I’m back and ready to tackle a new post on the very topic that had me occupied these last three months: REVISIONS.

Revising is a huge part of writing. And whether you are revising at the request of an agent or editor or revising based on your own intuition, it should be the part of the writing process that takes the most time. When I think of the writing process, I picture those inspirational photos of icebergs representing the depths of imagination. Writing my first draft is just the tip of the iceberg.

Where writers sometimes sabotage themselves is by confusing editing with revising. 

The official definition of EDIT is to prepare (written material) for publication by correcting, condensing, or otherwise modifying it. I consider editing as polishing up words, making sure all grammar, spelling, and punctuation are correct and tinkering with lines and swapping out the occasional word for a more interesting synonym.

Revising, on the other hand, deals with the structure of your story. The official definition of REVISION is a change or a set of changes that corrects or improves something: a new version of something.

But let’s break the word down to its essential meaning.

The prefix RE means “again” or “again and again” to indicate repetition.

The root VISION means the faculty or state of being able to see, if used as a noun, or (and I love this) if vision is being used as a rare verb it means imagine.

So at its essence, REVISION means to see and imagine again and again…and again. 

With that in mind, let’s equate your manuscript to your house. It’s an easy analogy because as writers we spend a great deal of time living in our stories. If your manuscript is your house, when you edit it, you are cleaning it up; dusting, vacuuming, scrubbing, mopping, and polishing your words until they sparkle.

Revising is not editing. It’s not cleaning up your story and words. It goes much deeper and takes a lot of blood, sweat, tears, pulling of hair, and often gnashing of teeth.

With that in mind, let’s return to our house analogy. If editing is cleaning your house, revising is renovating, remodeling, rearranging, and redesigning it. These tasks take time. Don’t rush through them. Revising is looking at the structure and elements of your “house” and doing the heavy lifting needed to make your house a home, where people will want to visit and live.

Revising may entail taking out walls (just make sure they’re not load-bearing) or adding walls and support to the existing structure to strengthen the foundation. 

It may necessitate removing beloved pieces of furniture that no longer fit or match the theme design and introducing new furnishings to create a welcoming flow to your house.

Think feng shui. Create harmonious surroundings that enhance the balance of your structure. You want your story to have a natural, organic flow. 

So chuck out or rearrange elements and pieces that disturb the flow of your story.

In my manuscript, the hope of the story, which is essential to the core of FINDING OBENO, was lost in chapter after chapter of darkness. I needed to bring more light into my “house” and ended up adding eleven new “windows” of hope in the manuscript to guide my readers through the dark chapters. 

When deciding how to renovate a manuscript, first make a plan to follow. I prefer creating a poster size chapter breakdown with colorful post-it notes, which I can manipulate until the design meets my needs.

The chapter breakdown becomes my revision blueprint. While revising existing chapters and writing new ones, I refer to the blueprint frequently, so I don’t veer off course and accidentally place a toilet in the closet instead of the bathroom.

After months of working on all the re- verbs: revising, renovating, remodeling, rearranging, and redesigning, I then begin to edit. It would be a waste of my time, as well as my critique partners’ time, to edit before revising, as many of the words I'd be polishing may end up cut, moved, or altered during the revision phase.

In 2011, I attended a writing workshop led by Editor Stephen Roxburgh. While discussing editing and revising, Stephen told us something I’ve never forgotten. “You can’t polish a turnip.” 

Make sure when you spend time scrubbing your words, they are in a story that can be polished. Revise first. Then polish away.

Regardless of what type of “house” you are building, before you focus on editing, take the time to REVISE. Look past all of your beloved words to the structure of your story. See your story and imagine it again, and again…and again. And when it’s structurally sound and organized so your plot flows through the space, decorate it with beautiful words and make them shine.

I promise, if you give your revisions the time and attention they deserve, when you emerge from your revision cave, you, too, may look like Gollum, but you will be clutching a manuscript both you and your readers will view as precious.

The Creative Process Step One: Marble, Wood, or Manure

I have had the distinct pleasure of attending two workshops with Editor Stephen Roxburgh of Namelos. The first was the 2010 Highlights Writers Workshop at Chautauqua, where I was fortunate to have Stephen as my mentor for the week. The following summer I attended his Editing for Writers workshop in Honesdale, PA.  At both workshops, Stephen taught me a great deal about the writing process.

Of his many lessons, one that I think about every time I sit down to write is Stephen’s description of a rough draft as a pile of words. He explained that when you are beginning a story, start by building your piles. Don't waste time scrutinizing each word. There will be plenty of time to sift the words and polish the ones that tell your story during the revision process. 

Stephen equated a writer beginning with a pile of words to Michelangelo beginning with a slab of marble...

 

 

“In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me, shaped and perfect in attitude and in action.  I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it to the other eyes as mine see it.” - Michelangelo

 

or Stradivari starting with a piece of wood.

 

 

 “To make a violin, take the wood and carve away all that is not the violin." - Stradivari

 

 

They are beautiful sentiments, and thinking of my writing process in those terms, makes me feel as though I am following the path of masters. But in all honesty, my writing process does not begin with a gorgeous block of marble or beautiful piece of wood, it begins with a pile. A big, steaming pile of words.  As a writer, I am less like the sculptor or carver, and more like the optimistic twin in my favorite joke.

The joke goes like this:

Parents of twin 5-year old boys, were worried that the boys had developed extreme personalities -- one was a total pessimist, the other a total optimist -- their parents took them to a psychiatrist.

 

First the psychiatrist treated the pessimist. Trying to brighten his outlook, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with brand-new toys. But instead of yelping with delight, the little boy burst into tears.

"What's the matter?" the psychiatrist asked, baffled. "Don't you want to play with any of the toys?"

 

"Yes," the little boy bawled, "but if I did I'd only break them."

Next the psychiatrist treated the optimist. Trying to dampen his outlook, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with horse manure. But instead of wrinkling his nose in disgust, the optimist emitted just the yelp of delight the psychiatrist had been hoping to hear from his brother, the pessimist. Then he clambered to the top of the pile, dropped to his knees, and began gleefully digging out scoop after scoop with his bare hands.

 

"What do you think you're doing?" the psychiatrist asked, just as baffled by the optimist as he had been by the pessimist.

 

"With all this manure," the little boy replied, beaming,

"there must be a pony in here somewhere!"

 

 

It is hard to follow up that joke, so I will close with this:

Whatever your creative process may be, embrace it! 

 

 

 

And may your piles be great and your ponies plentiful!