2011 Roundup: Keeping Score

I love reading everyone’s end-of-year wrap-ups and seeing how far people have come in 365 days. (Like, say, Erin Bowman, who’s given me a case of chronic inspiration with her 2011 accomplishments.) So, in the spirit of reliving 2011 before your eyes, I present my class project:

What I Did on My Summer Vacation (And During the Rest of the Year, Too)

The abridged version: I revised a book.

The long, rambling version: On Nov. 1, 2010, I had never written a book. (Well, there were a few unfinished ones in my past). By Nov. 30, 2010 I had finished a book. By the end of January 2011 I had revised a full book.

If you’re keeping track, that’s Tracey 2, Insecurities 0.

And I spent the rest of 2011 revising and rewriting. Seriously. I’d say that’s Tracey 2, Insecurities 5. The crazy thing about me not being able to push through revisions at the same speed a write is that I’m an editor by trade. I mean, I’m comfortable hacking a piece to pieces. I rarely hold a crazy attachment to my words. (Maybe I’m just pure evil and take joy in killing my darlings.) Anyhow, when it came to this book, I froze up.

The very smart and very awesome Liz Briggs made several brilliant suggestions in her critique, which made me realize I had a hefty rewrite on my hands. I’m glad I did it. The book’s about three bajillion times better now than it was in its first incarnation. But the rewrite/revision scared me. If you were in my head you’d have heard: 

You can’t accomplish on paper what you see in your mind. 

You’re a terrible writer.

If this seems difficult, it’s because you’re an idiot. 

You’re not good enough.

It took a lot, A LOT, of strength to get past that fear of failure. During the first draft, I knew it was mostly crap and could be fine-tuned during revisions. I didn’t fear screwing up because it was pretty much a given. But revising? That’s where the magic happens, where books are really made. Anyhow, I can’t tell you how I got over my inability to edit but eventually I did. I wrote more than 50,000 new words. No joke.

And even though I need to go through and revise the new section, it’s done. More than anything, it taught me that I can accomplish on paper what I see in my mind. I can write. I’m not an idiot. I am good enough.

So that’s my accomplishment this year. Some time next year I’ll start querying. And maybe I’ll have good news come Dec. 23, 2012. But for now?

I believe it’s Tracey WIN, Insecurities LOSE.

What’s your biggest triumph this year, writing-related or other?

8 Tips for Better Self-Editing

Since I’ve been wading in the Sea of Revisions, I thought I’d share some of my editing tips. We all edit differently and I always find it interesting to hear how others do it. I thought you might, too. (Don’t tell me if I’m wrong.)

1. Read the manuscript aloud. I’m sure you’ve heard this one before, but for me it’s critical. That’s how I determine if the rhythm of the sentences or paragraphs is off. It’s also how I catch stupid typos when Microsoft Word lets me down. (I mean, are and our aren’t replaceable—even if they’re both spelled correctly.)

2. Take time away. Like a good rebound relationship, revisions work best after you’ve taken some time away from the game. There’s a 500 percent chance that a couple weeks or more away from your manuscript will make you a better editor. Also, that comprehensive critique will seem a lot less critical and much more helpful after you’ve digested everything.

3. Highlight all of the verbs. This will be tedious. I promise. But your work will be stronger for it. Take out that pretty yellow highlighter and mark up each and every verb. When you go back and review the highlights, look for any weak verbs and replace with stronger ones. Also check for verb-adverb constructions and change them to stronger verbs.

4. Circle all metaphors and similes. Check to make sure you’re using the correct metaphor or simile for your character. A character who spends his summers mowing laws would probably describe freshly mowed grass differently than someone who grew up in the city.

5. Cut any scene that isn’t furthering the plot, character arc or, better yet, both. You can preserve the BEST WRITING YOU’VE EVER DONE by copying and pasting it into a new document. Tell yourself you’ll add it back. Then read the scenes and pat yourself on the back for how much better the story sounds.

6. Make a pass for every character. Listen, each character should act as if they’re the main character of the story. Because to them, they are. In a story about me, the mechanic who works on my car is a side character. But I’m a side character in his story, too. Everyone is the main character of their own story.

7. Check for character voice. Paste a chunk of dialog into a new document. Remove the dialog tags. Can you tell the difference between characters from the dialog? Everyone speaks differently, and so should your characters. Make sure yours don’t all sound like the narrator.

8. Do a pass for first and lasts. Make sure the beginning and end of each chapter and scene stand out. These can get overlooked, but they should be handled with just as much care as you do the first and last line of the book.

That’s all for now. What are your self-editing tips?

The Revision Freak Out

I’m in the middle of revising my YA sci-fi novel, which means sometimes I look like this:

Like when I re-read a passage and I actually love it. Or when I’m sucked in to my own story. But most of the time I look like this:

Usually I stare at my revision to-do list and have a minor freak out because the draft sucks and I’m not sure I’m capable of reworking it the way it needs to be reworked. You know when you stare at the last five chapters and think they’d be better off in the trash? Yeah, I’m there.*

And it’s not that the words themselves bother me. It’s the fact that those words in those paragraphs and in those scenes don’t quite belong in that order. Sigh.

So I’ve been working through my revision notes methodically, attempting to ignore the crazy amount of yellow comments in future chapters. It’s kind of like ignoring an itch when someone tells you their house has bedbugs. Which is to say, almost impossible.

But because I’m not overwhelmed enough, I decided to follow all of the tips Donald Maass tweeted last month. And of course they’re all awesome. And of course following them will make my manuscript better to the Maass degree.

I won’t list them all here since I’m guessing most of you have seen them, but I wanted to point to a few that have inspired changes in my story so far.

#14 In your climactic scene, what are 3 details of place that only your MC would notice? Cut more obvious details, replace with these.

#18 Give your MC passionate feelings about something trivial: e.g., cappuccino, bowling, argyle socks. Write his/her rant. Add it.

#26 Whom is your MC afraid to let down? What is the sacred trust between them? What would cause your MC to break it? Break it.

#30 What’s the worst thing that happens to your MC? Work backwards. Make it something your MC has spent a lifetime avoiding.

How do you revise? Do you have any tips to add to these?

Also, a huge congrats to my friend Erin Bowman who just sold her YA trilogy! You can read the Publishers Marketplace blurb on her blog. (Sneak peek: It sounds amazing.)

*Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way...

First Draft Bloopers

The thing I most love about writing a first draft is being able to run with a story. It’s like watching a movie for me. Sort of. I know where I’m headed and I know the major stops along the way, but the rest? Totally unexpected.

Because of this, I write fast. It took me a while to learn this, but now I mostly write without self-editing. Sure, I might go back and review yesterday’s work to get back in the story, but as I’m writing I won’t stop to rework a sentence 34 times.

But this type of writing can lead to some discrepancies. Like this gem, which The Man found while reading:

Act 1: main character has no boobs

Act 2: main character has boobs

Act 3: main character has no boobs

I can only guess that my main character got a boob job, didn’t like it, and got a reduction. But isn’t that backstory?

And to answer your question: Yes, I’m worried that my husband is paying attention to my main character’s chest size.

Safe Haven

There are certain words that should not be used together. (No I’m not talking about “we’re out of bread pudding,” though those words most definitely should not be used together.)

I’m talking about words that don’t make sense if you speak English. Which I do.

When I was in journalism school, I took a copyediting class that changed the way I wrote. And it also changed how I edited, which I think made me a more thorough yet less likeable editor.

Anyhow. Two words were nails on the chalkboard to my professor and are now nails on the chalkboard to me: safe haven.

I cringe at the mention of a safe haven. I want to scribble all over the word safe whenever I read the phrase. I want to scream, “A HAVEN IS A SAFE PLACE!” at the top of my lungs.

Sure, this sounds ah-mazing: It was her safe haven.

But what you’re really saying is this: It was her safe safe place.

Even Word, which never fails to underline grammatically correct phrases with its annoying squiggles, knows this is wrong.

So for the love of everything haven-like, drop the safe. Or change it to safe place.

The final end.