What I Call “The Pause”

Have you tried editing in Word’s Focus mode?

Last year, when I typed “The End” on the Brilliant Rising manuscript, its word count logged in at a whopping 120,000 words. I often joke that I’m a novelist and not a flash fiction writer for a reason, but even by my standards, the book was long.

 Despite that two-word coda on the last page, I knew I wasn’t quite finished with edits, and by the time I started talking with She Writes Press publisher, Brooke Warner, I had gone through the manuscript once again, armed with metaphoric hedge clippers and an unsentimental eye. With the word total down to 107,000, I thought: ah, now really “The End.”

 Brooke had other ideas.

 “How about we take a whack at getting this story below 100,000 words?” she suggested to me during our first phone conversation. “I have a copyeditor—Krissa—who does a really good job streamlining books.”

 I was nervous; I hadn’t worked with Krissa before. Would she strip the characterizations to their bare bones? Would she pare down the plot or the language? And, if so, would she completely change what I wanted to say to readers about the journey that Jules, Rennie, and all the others make over the course of the story? 

 The writer’s mood following the completion of a book is an unsettling combination of euphoria, pride, and abject insecurity. Given that, my first thoughts after hearing the recommendation of more editing were not unusual ones, I think. Wait, are you telling me you don’t love this thing I agonized over for five years and finished against all odds? This work that is composed of artistry and absolute magic? At least I thought I possessed magic. No, you’re right. The book is crap.

 But instead of giving power to all this inner angst, I paused, took a breath, and said, “Sure. I’d appreciate seeing what Krissa can do with this book.” That brief pause gave me space to feel certain that Brooke’s instinct that the book could be even better was the right one. 

 I employed the pause in the editing process too. When my manuscript came back with track changes enabled and completely marked up with Krissa’s red corrections and comments, I took a second pause to remind myself the red ink signified improvements, not disapproval.

 I’m glad I did that. Krissa managed to strip another 7800 words without damaging the plot or continuity or characterizations or even the syntax of my prose. In fact, all those components of the story have been enhanced. Greatly. Streamlined even this small amount, the story reads better.

 You can also employ the pause when an editor makes a cut or a suggestion that you don’t agree with. My advice is, consider what (s)he’s asking you to do, and then pause for the space to determine the strength of your convictions. If you want something left in, know why you do and then speak up. This is your story, after all. No one knows it better than you. Out of the 7800 words Krissa cut, I restored a little over 300 that I felt were essential to understanding the characters and their motivations. 

 That pause is an important tool in a writer’s toolkit. It allows some room for a less emotional response to work its way in, enough space for the reminder that you, your publisher, and your editor make a team whose goal is to put out the best book possible.