Sometimes You Need to Give It a Rest

We heartily recommend taking a break from your freshly completed manuscript before jumping in on edits. It’s not hard to find this advice from other sources as well, and for good reason.

Many good reasons, actually.

Editing takes a different mindset than the initial writing. Give yourself enough time to shift gears. If you rush the job, you’ll find that not only are the words themselves too familiar, but you’ll have distractingly vivid recall the act of writing them. The choices you made at the time will still feel like the only way things can be.

Have you ever shown a pristine page to a friend and had them zero in immediately on a typo? It’s a forest-and-trees problem. To gain the vantage to really see your own work, you have to hike out of the woods. And that takes time.

Critical distance is necessary at all levels, not just the mechanicals. Does your action sequence make a reader’s pulse race? Is the central tragedy suitably heartbreaking? Do the plot threads all tie together? You won’t be able to answer such questions unless you can approximate an outside perspective.

It’s not merely a question of time, though. Just staring into the middle distance for some magic number of days won’t prep your mind. Focusing intently on a different project is, for us, the best way to train ourselves to pretend we don’t know how our own story goes. We’re typically juggling two or three novels at a time, so while the latest one rests we devote ourselves passionately to one of the others. Concentrating on music or painting or home renovations could achieve the same effect. Whatever you choose, lean into it so hard you don’t have any spare brain cells where overfamiliarity can linger.

A writing partner is someone to pass the time with while your prose is in repose.

“Why Spend a Dime on Jim”

  • by Kentrearranged her hair
  • green plastic frog goggles
  • Thirteen people have been arrested
  • $1,100 snakeskin jacket that you never wear but like to tell other people you have
  • secret society of possibly murderous, mega-wealthy hedonists

Tune in next time part 496      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Why spend a dime on Jim,” I asked, maintaining my yeti voice in case John didn’t already know my identity, “if it’s the clarinet we care about? We just need to find it first.”

John shook his head violently. “We discussed this!” So, he thought I was someone else. “The map to its location was the wig on the mannequin at Blinkie’s Overalls, but someone rearranged her hair to obscure the coordinates. The only clue about who did it was the green plastic frog goggles found at the scene. We bribed the local constabulary to do our dirty work. Thirteen people have been arrested, including the guy who stole that $1,100 snakeskin jacket that you never wear but like to tell other people you have, but we’re no closer to our real goal. And for that reason, we are trying to infiltrate this secret society of possibly murderous, mega-wealthy hedonists.” He squinted at me. “I’m continually surprised by how poor your memory is.”

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The Silver Serving Tray Upon Which Tatiana had Given Birth

  • by jenonce I was barefoot
  • someone else’s eyebrows?
  • Brodie did the calculation
  • a clarinet of his own design
  • some unlikely and very large costars

Tune in next time part 495      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The silver serving tray upon which Tatiana had given birth was whisked away along with her and the infants, and soon the auction had returned to normal. Or at least as normal as the auctioning of a hallucinating man to the highest bidding secret agent, in a cavern entirely staffed by yeti can be. My instincts told me to either halt the sale of my brother, or simply leave. But Jim had told me, pre-hallucinogens, that he wanted the auction to proceed. And Tatiana, mother to my newest children, had told me to keep bidding. Meanwhile, Fleur and my other infants were back at Enigma Fortress, vulnerable to whatever plan her husband Harry and that dick Arlo had cooking, and my own wife had demanded my presence back in the capital as soon as the skies were clear enough for my war-zeppelin to fly. It was a lot to think about.

The bidding continued at a leisurely pace around me as I tried to work out my next move, but my feet were too hot and I couldn’t concentrate. Under my big hairy yeti feet I was still wearing my clunky wooden hiking boots. No wonder my feet were so sweaty. I ducked into a corner, stripped from the ankles down, and, once I was barefoot, felt much better.

John sidled up to me, fully recovered from his Snowcock freakout, and gave me a shrewd look. I tried to give it right back, but I was wearing a yeti mask, and, have you ever tried to wiggle someone else’s eyebrows? It was like that.

John leaned in and said into my mask’s earhole, “Brodie did the calculation, and we ought to be able to outbid everyone here, assuming we can stay awake long enough. I know you don’t think he’s worth the expense, but Jim has a clarinet of his own design, and we need to get our hands on it before some unlikely and very large costars do.” He nodded meaningfully at the other yeti.

This was all extremely interesting, but just who did John think he was talking to? A ninja-yeti? A yeti-ninja? Did he think I was Jason? Did he know I was me? Or was there someone else specific he expected to meet at this auction, disguised as a bald-footed yeti?

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Walk the Talk

We used to be really good about taking daily walks. As we stretched our legs we would discuss whatever writing project we were in the middle of. Brainstorming, plotting, troubleshooting, we did it all. And then for some reason — possibly weather-related, possibly laziness — we stopped. Our collaboration talks took place in the car or one of the Writing Caves. Kent got his exercise playing soccer. Jen went to the pool.

But now there’s a pandemic, and unless we wanted our asses to fuse to our office chairs, we had to get ourselves moving. Luckily we have two furry overlords to provide our motivation. The daily walks are back. Have been for a couple of months now. And, just recently, the writing talks are back.

When we’re not talking to our neighbors from opposite sides of the street, we’re talking about our Ghost Novels. So far we haven’t read through the notes we already have. We find it helpful sometimes to see what we remember without prompting, as those are usually the most important elements. We’re happy to announce that we remembered pretty much everyone’s names, as well as the majority of the plot and a lot of cool little details. We’ve been talking about the setting, fleshing out some ideas. Kent is getting itchy to draw up some maps. We even came up with a really nifty bit of world-building.

Soon, possibly even this weekend, we need to read through the existing notes. It’ll be good to make sure our new ideas aren’t veering wildly off the path, and if they are, we’ll need to decide which direction to pursue.

A good coauthor is someone you never get tired of talking to, even during quarantine.

Tatiana Gestured For Magnus

  • by KentI am really creeped out by
  • the safest ever built
  • the crowd wore black towels in lieu of formalwear
  • never occurred to me to wonder
  • If Axl Rose showed up to rent an apartment from you

Tune in next time part 494      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tatiana gestured for Magnus to get closer, closer, for increased skin contact. No sensible person would want Magnus, and his cufflinks, anywhere near the site of new life’s emergence into the world. If Axl Rose showed up to rent an apartment from you, you’d be happier to see him than anyone should have been about Magnus’s participation. It never occurred to me to wonder about his prior connection to Tatiana, but in hindsight there must have been one.

I hung back, awaiting the arrival of yet more of my children into the world. Meanwhile the bidding on my brother Jim continued. My mind drifted to another surreal auction I’d attended with similar acoustics. Rather than in a cavern it had been at a natatorium. The items up for bid were quite exclusive, so the crowd wore black towels in lieu of formalwear.

My reminiscing was interrupted by the healthy cry of a newborn baby, and then another. I gathered them to my furry bossom and smiled at them, but of course they couldn’t see my real face and their screams became more urgent. “They’re hungry,” I said in my gruff midwife’s voice and handed them back to Tatiana. “Or else they’re afraid that I am.” My joke didn’t get any laughs.

“Two million two thousand ninety eight!” Tatiana called out as she nursed the twins. Magnus suddenly swept back onto the scene, leaving me disappointed I hadn’t savored his absence. The two yeti carrying a palanquin behind him sized me up as they set the conveyance down for Tatiana to board it.

“Is that thing safe?” I gruffed.

“It is the safest ever built with such a high level of recycled content,” Magnus proclaimed proudly. To this day, I am really creeped out by the memory of his smug expression.

Tatiana leaned perilously out over the side of the platform as the yeti bearers raised it again. She locked eyes with me, even through the mask. “Keep bidding!” she implored.

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“Two Million Two Thousand!”

  • by jenflowed quickly from his nostrils
  • many individuals still believe today
  • should be home in bed
  • “I need the backstory.”
  • certainly not cinnamon-colored

Tune in next time part 493      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Two million two thousand!” shouted Tatiana at the same second that John was swigging champagne, and he was so surprised by the thousand-dollar leap in the bidding that he nearly choked. Champagne flowed quickly from his nostrils as he looked around for a napkin.

Turning back to me, Tatiana said. “I and many individuals still believe today in the ancient yeti maternity practices. I will give birth here in the cavern.”

“You should be home in bed,” I growled at her. “Or perhaps in that nice fortress down the mountain.”

“No!” Tatiana grabbed my yeti-masked face in her hands and stared into my eyes. “I need the elderberries. I need the skin contact.” She enunciated every word. “I need the backstory.” Her face crumpled under another contraction. “I need it all.”

I nodded.

She called to her nearly nude companion. “Magnus, get one of the big serving trays from a waiter. It will stand in for the traditional sled. I will give birth upon it. And napkins! Bring many napkins! Whatever sort you can find, except certainly not cinnamon-colored. That would be ill-omened.”

I was starting to feel quite superfluous, but decided to stick around and see my latest children be born.

“Two million two thousand thirty seven!” groaned Tatiana.

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Duck Season! Rabbit Season!

One of the great things about writing with a partner is that it gives you two ways to see everything.

One of the trickiest things about writing with a partner is that there are always two ways to see things.

We’re doing revisions on Son of Music Novel. The method we use has us each take a turn editing every page in tandem. Jen goes first, and at the end of every work session Kent approves her changes. We let her get about five chapters ahead before Kent started, so Jen’s fresh edits have faded a bit in his mind, and now every night she approves his changes, too. It’s a good setup for us. Two sets of eyes and all that. And, Jen can leave a note for Kent if there’s something she’d like him to fix when he reaches that point.

Of course, that works a little less well when he isn’t able to see the problem he’s meant to address. Language is ultimately subjective, and a phrasing that “strongly implies X” for one reader might feel utterly neutral about X vs Y for the next.

What happened in this case was Kent rolled his eyes a little (if he sighs, it resonates throughout the Writing Cave and breaks Jen’s concentration) and made his best effort at repairs. When Jen approved the new version, she stipulated that it hadn’t really made the issue go away. It seemed to be an impasse.

So, she used a colorful metafor to describe what she wished was on the page, to which Kent said “Why didn’t you say so?” And he promptly put the colorful metafor, verbatim, on the page. The duck-rabbit waveform collapsed and harmony again reigned in the Writing Cave.

I Realized I Had Been Staring

  • by Kentpure diamond
  • He had pet names for her body parts.
  • When I turned 16,
  • with the fur round her boots
  • disco night every week

Tune in next time part 492      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I realized I had been staring for several seconds at the un-caped man. I gave my head a vigorous shake and said in my gruff voice, “Our methods have been modernized recently. Not sure we really need your help today.”

Tatiana’s hand clamped onto my elbow and squeezed. I was glad she couldn’t see the look of agony on my face inside the yeti costume. When her contraction was over, she said, “Modernized? No! I insist on the traditional birthing methods of the mountain fastness. My children’s souls will shine like pure diamond! And Magnus will be there to help.”

She knew this kooky exhibitionist’s name. Figured. And probably called him on his birthday. She cat-sitted for him. He had pet names for body parts.

Why should I feel jealous over Tatiana? The thin alpine air must have been messing up my thinking. It was her sister, Tessa who I wanted to be reunited with. When I turned 16, it had been Tessa who lurked in the roadside ditch while I pretended to hitchhike so we could steal a car for my driving test. I remembered how she looked then, with the knife strapped to her thigh, with the fur round her boots, with a murderous glint in her eye like a mirrorball of bloodlust. We had disco night every week. We had it all. Why had I let my life become so complicated?

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“Elderberries?”

  • by jenalso a valid tactic
  • “No. I don’t want anything to do with you.”
  • He and his family all do it together
  • I guess I have some doppelgängers
  • mink cufflinks

Tune in next time part 491      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Elderberries?” I was incredulous. “You know what else is also a valid tactic? Actual medical care.” I grabbed the yeti midwife’s elbow and tried to pull her to her feet. “Come on.”

“No. I don’t want anything to do with you.” She curled her lip. “Or the ridiculous humans.” She pried my hand off her elbow with surprising strength, and handed me a plastic zipper bag full of tiny, dark purple berries. “Now fuck off and let me enjoy my coffee break, or I’ll report you to the union.”

Whether she was talking about the yeti union or the ninja union, I wanted nothing to do with them. I snatched her rainbow-striped headband and hurried from the room. Tatiana was probably too distracted to notice that I was not an actual yeti midwife, and if I wore the uniform she would probably do what I told her.

I retraced my route to the auction chamber. The bidding was at $2,000,682 and creeping higher. A small crowd had gathered around Tatiana as she labored while continuing her attempts to purchase my brother in the name of her sister. As I pushed my way through the onlookers, I overheard a number of them speculating about who had gotten her pregnant.

“The star charts dictated that it be Jason,” John said. “But his twin was the best we could do.”

“Oh, you were there!” cried Maxine. “How auspicious!”

“He and his family all do it together,” said a foppish man in a fur cape. “Espionage, I mean. Did you know that today’s prize, Jim, is a member of that family? It really is too much!”

“Two million seven hundred and one!” cried Tatiana. Then she spotted me in my disguise. “You look familiar,” she said suspiciously.

“I guess I have some doppelgängers,” I said, trying to imitate the gruff tone of the yeti. I held up my baggie of elderberries. “Let’s get you somewhere comfortable to deliver those babies.”

“I’ll provide the skin contact!” cried the fur-cape man. He tossed his cape aside, revealing himself to be wearing only a mink speedo and crisp white cuffs held in place on his wrists by mink cufflinks.

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Explain It Like You’re Five

Communicating complex ideas is hard. People want to understand what you’re telling them, but they don’t want a complicated lecture. This is where “explain it to me like I’m 5” comes from. Use simple language, and frame it in an everyday context.

However, the failure mode of this approach is condescension. The very premise is “talking down.” There’s a good chance some readers won’t care for how that makes them feel.

One way to adapt to this in fiction is by having a literal 5-year-old request the explanation. That way readers don’t feel that the simplified language is being aimed at them. We discovered it’s even more fun to turn that inside-out and make the 5-year-old the one explaining things. The main weird aspect of our story world is part of normal life for this kid’s family. He’s always known how it works, so to him it’s other people not getting it that feels weird. Looking at it through his eyes, and expressing it in the terms he would use, helped us check our own understanding of what we’ve created.

Using this technique to get explanatory/expository passages into the text relies on having a qualified and suitably precocious youngster around. That does limit the viability of applying it in certain settings and to certain topics. (A know-it-all whippersnapper doling out sage strategy in the trenches of WWI might not be in keeping with your desired tone, for instance. Then again, feel free to use that.)

Meanwhile, we’ll be in the Writing Cave huddled around our edits on Son of Music Novel. Quarantine, you say?