Sup Rose,
My name is Hario, and I'm a terrible writer that is about to give some writing advice.
(I know that's not the best introduction, but it's the truth, and it's still better than most can ask for.)
Anyway, I not here to give you any expert tips or industry secrets (if I knew any of that I would be making a sustainable income from my work). Instead, I am here to offer what has been working for me, and nothing more. So please, if that's not what you would like to read, then just skip over this novella of a post, and have a great day.
First things first, let's open up with some solid advice from the King:
“Write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open. Your stuff starts out being just for you, in other words, but then it goes out. Once you know what the story is and get it right — as right as you can, anyway — it belongs to anyone who wants to read it. Or criticize it.” — Stephen King
1. FINISH THE FIRST DRAFT.
i want you to look at your first draft, and really ask yourself if it's done. And by done, I mean have you written, 'The End' below the final line?
If you have, then congratulations! You are officially no longer an "idea Person" and can take a small comfort in that indisputable fact, and can skip to number two.
If you haven't, however, than forget about editing anything. That's silly talk. You can't. Imagine if you were grilling a burger, and someone three houses down walked over and said, "Fix that! It needs more ketchup!", but you haven't even flipped the patty yet. You'd probably feel a bit indignant about the whole situation now. You weren't even at the stage in which condiments could be considered. What if ketchup was already in the plan and you just haven't gotten there yet? What if you don't even like ketchup?
That's the level of ludicrousness I feel over major edits on an unfinished initial pass! Would you criticize someone else's child's eating etiquette when they are still in a bib? Would you mock a flower's petals whilst it has still yet to bloom? Why would you do the same to your story? Like the King said, you don't even know what your story even is yet. It's still in it's infantile stage. Focus on nourishing it, working on it, until it has become a fully formed, uhm, thing!
So finish the draft. Close the door, drown the world out until only you and the blank page exist in the world (I listen to soundtrack instrumentals from films that fit the mood I'm trying to write). Remember, that proverbial door is closed, and the everything has been forced to slip away because you are writing for you, and you alone. Forget about the audience. Forget about structure. Forget about the rules -- just write. To me, this is the fun part. This first draft is where that intense, buzz of ecstasy permeates my veins and tingles my skin. The first draft is when I forget about the worries of life, and just write, no, spew those little moments I've been thinking about all day while I let my mind wander onto the page. It's where my fingers glide and dance across the key board and I get to feel like a real writer because I'm doing it. It's when I finally get to tell and immortalize that story of a little robot who dreamt digital dreams of a home he could never return to. It's when I can forever record the adventures of a Monk and a Giant Squid while they traverse an apocalyptic wasteland that was once a world familiar. It's when I can live and dwell withing my imagination and no one can judge or tell me otherwise. It's when I can be most intimate, become vulnerable and honest.
And by the time I've typed "the end", I have laughed, lamented, scorned, parodied, rejoiced, and felt all the feelings I needed to feel while telling myself the story. And then, and only then, do I even toy around with the idea of attempting to refine and edit the story into something that can be shown to others.
And it will need to be edited. There will be spelling mistakes, tangents that I have no memory of writing, sentences that make you want to curl up and die, words you've used which you are certain that you have used wrong, characters that do not belong, story segments that are ill-fitted, motivations and story beats that are inconsistent, spelling mistakes -- the whole damn works.
This is normal, of course. I know no one who writes a decent first draft -- and anyone who claims to do so is either a genius, or a liar -- who is lying to your face because they care more about their pride and image than they do about you. I'm not a gambling man, but I'd bet a lot of my everything that they are the latter. (I apologize for the mini-rant. Posers are a bit of a pet-peeve of mine, and the ones who try to lie about their already non-existent work ethic do way more damage than they think).
This first draft is, again, for you. More specifically, the process of this first draft is for you. So enjoy it! No one else is going to see this anyway, so write it in a way that it will carry you past the finish line. I have a line from a first draft that is bracketed and says, [Sarge gets angry. Screams, like, RGHRADGH -- but is interrupted by the serrated spike inching deep in his throat. The others have an 'Oh NOES!' moment, and the Sarge is down for the count.]. Do I feel guilty? Nope. I'll come back to it later and make it sound elegant and sexy then because I need to get to the next part.
You can always come back and revisit.
The sole goal of the first draft is to finish telling yourself the story.
The sole goal of the first draft is to finish.
Once you've written The End, you've just completed the most important part of the process (again, give yourself some props. I estimate you've gone further than 90% of everyone who's tried this).
Now look over it a few times: fix as many spelling errors as you can, cross out the redundancies, change up a few scenes, maybe tweak a few dialogue lines, and even start looking up the definition of words you weren't too sure of when you used them -- and now you're ready for the SECOND most important part of the process:
2. Print it out, Put That Shit in a Drawer, and Forget About It.
Time for another quote!
The best advice I can give on this is, once it's done, to put it away until you can read it with new eyes. Finish the short story, print it out, then put it in a drawer and write other things. — Neil Gaiman
Listen, you've probably spent weeks, possibly months on this damn thing. You've bled all over the pages and now are holding it up to the sun to better highlight the crinkled edges and the scarlet stains. You've laughed to yourself, possibly wept to yourself. You've just spent a considerable amount of time with these imaginary characters, and learned each and every pebble that is scattered along their forested path.
You've just given yourself to the story, to the process, and even if you think it's terrible, have a certain love and connection to it. It's more than fresh in your mind, and you remember how ecstatic you felt when writing this one scene, or how resistant you were before forcing yourself to move on from this particular piece of dialogue. You'll love so much of it, or maybe even detest everything you've just typed onto the page. It's because of this attachment, the context, that you must now let it go.
You're too close to the piece. You can no longer be objective. It's become impossible to look at your piece with fair eyes. If you find yourself unable to kill your babies, trim the fat, streamline the message, and it's all because you're not giving yourself sufficient time away from the words.
It's like an argument with your significant other. You've just spent an hour screaming at each other. You're not just going to solve this the minute you stop screaming and turn away from each other -- you have to cool off in another room. Stew in your emotions. Let the fury simmer. Eventually, after logic is allowed some leeway and critical thinking stumbles in, you'll both realize that you've forgotten why you were so angry with each other to begin with and move on, using the whole ordeal to strengthen the relationship as a whole.
Same principle with editing your first draft.
You have to walk away from it.
You have to forget about it.
If you're worried you'll get lazy or something in the meantime, stop. I never said you can't write anything in the meantime. If you're worried you'll never get to it if you forget about it, then set an alarm. I recommend a month to six weeks before opening the drawer, but if you're really impatient or on a deadline than three weeks should suffice.
Until then keep writing something else, work on commissions, start on the next project. Fill your time and thoughts with other passions so the first draft has no bearing over you, and you'll find yourself pleasantly surprised when the alarm goes off.
Because you've been busy and your mind has been full, you'll come to the draft with no context for anything, and the story will feel fresh -- and because you've been writing this whole time, you'll be looking at the page as a better writer as well. You'll be able to look at the work from an author long gone, and you'll be able to tear apart their work with honesty and earnest. Go ahead, try to hurt your own feelings. I promise you won't. In fact, make that the goal. With each improvement you make on the first draft will breed confidence, and by the time you complete your second draft, you will print it out, and your chest will fill with pride for you will have tangible proof that you have not just improved since the first, but hold in your hands the evidence that you will always keep improving.
So put that thing in the drawer and forget. You'll thank yourself when it's time to look at it again.
But for the actual editing process, I find the best practices are the ones you've already heard:
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Spelling & Grammar Corrections
“If you can spell "Nietzsche" without Google, you deserve a cookie.” ― Lauren Leto
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Kill Your Babies (Take Out Whatever Isn't the Story)
Mostly when I think of pacing, I go back to Elmore Leonard, who explained it so perfectly by saying he just left out the boring parts. This suggest cutting to speed the pace, and that’s what most of us end up having to do (kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler’s heart, kill your darlings)...I got a scribbled comment that changed the way I rewrote my fiction once and forever. Jotted below the machine-generated signature of the editor was this mot: “Not bad, but PUFFY. You need to revise for length. Formula: 2nd Draft = 1st Draft – 10%. Good luck.”
— Stephen King
And I'm also in the, "Adverbs are Devil" camp. You don't need them. All of them, at least.
“Substitute 'damn' every time you're inclined to write 'very;' your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.”
― Mark Twain
So there it is. My two cents. I'd say that it's still worth something, but we both know it's not.
I hope that, in some sort of small way, it's helped you out regardless.
Before I go, I just have one last thing for you. This has helped me when it comes to writing. I have a feeling it may help you.
— Hario
