editing

11 Questions for Your Editor

by Ramona DeFelice Long

When I review a story, whether for a client or a peer, I’m always happy when the author points out their concerns.

“Is the voice consistent?” “I’m worried that my child narrator sounds too old.” “Does the nautical language throw you?” “Is the love scene too graphic?”

Although I have my own method of critiquing, I’m willing to address what concerns a writer. Recently, however, a client took this to a new level. He sent me a list of questions after I’d completed the edit. I was taken aback, I admit, until I read the questions.  They’re good questions. I answered them, and then asked if I could share.

With my client’s permission, I am printing below a list of questions you might ask a professional editor, a beta reader, or anyone who critiques your work.

1. Is this story complex enough and interesting enough to be worthy of a novel length effort? If not, what, in your opinion, would make it so?

 2. Did the mystery work for you? If not, why not?

3. As a reader, would you care enough about the characters and plot to continue reading if you were not doing an edit? What, in your opinion, can be done to make the story stronger, more intriguing?

4.  Are the characters developed well enough? Are the characters credible, real enough, emotional enough? Are there characters you would like to have seen more fully developed?

5. Are the sub-plots engaging and well enough developed? What can make them stronger?

6.  Was the ending appropriate? Was it what you expected? What ending would make the story stronger, more intriguing?

7. What did you expect to see in the story but didn’t? Does the writer fulfill his promise to the reader?

 8.  If a friend asked you about the book, what you liked, what you didn’t like and if you would recommend it, what would you tell them?

9. Was the writing professional? What would make it stronger?

10. Assuming your edit recommendations are followed, would this manuscript be ready for submission to prospective agents? What would make it stronger?

11.  What three things would make this a better novel?

Don’t be afraid to share your concerns about your writing with your editor or trusted reader. You are on the same team, with the same goal–to make your story stronger.

Ramona

Needless to Say, or Write

by Ramona DeFelice Long

If something is needless to say, why do we say it?

“Needless to say” acts as a disclaimer. It means that whatever the speaker (or writer) plans to say next, doesn’t need to be said. The speaker understands and acknowledges this through the use of the disclaimer–but says it anyway. Why we persist in saying something that doesn’t need to be said doesn’t make much sense, but the phrase is a common one.  Proof? I just used it in the title. Needless to say, I thought it was catchy.

A disclaimer phrase acts as a lead-in–or, perhaps, a warning. Consider the phrase “No offense, but….” Anyone who has ever said, or heard, or been in the vicinity of anyone who has ever said or heard, “No offense, but…” knows what’s coming next. Something offensive.

“No offense, but…” is a lead-in that gives the soon-to-be-offended party time to prepare.  Unfortunately, it’s probably not enough time to run away and not have to hear whatever ignorant, unflattering or insulting comment the speaker feels compelled to make, which just by saying “No offense, but…” shows the speaker knows s/he should not be saying it. “No offense, but…” is a somewhat more polite way of saying, “Brace yourself, I’m about to insult you.”

As I edit manuscripts, I find quite a few disclaimers and lead-ins. I also find words that are needless to write. Sometimes it’s repetition or redundancy.

Example: “She gave a final, last push against the door.”

Final and last? This reminds me of when I tried to train my dog to sit. I was an inexperienced dog owner. I didn’t know about first you say, then you show. I would give the command–“Sit!”–and my dog would continue to stand. Usually,  she’d wag her tail, to show she was happy I was talking to her. Instead of reaching out and pushing her bottom to the pavement to demonstrate “Sit!” I would repeat the command. Over and over. I’m sure, at least once, I said, “This is the final,  last time I tell you to sit!”

My dog never learned to sit properly.

Here’s another example: “He popped off a quick fast jab.”

This may be for style or effect, but it’s still overkill.  The use of words that mean the same thing, twice, don’t add information. They just add to the word count.  As a reader, I am reading more words, without learning any more information.

This one reminds me of word problems in math: “John was taking the train to Baltimore, so if the train traveled at the normal speed for 10 miles and a quick fast speed for 15 miles, what time would John arrive at the aquarium?”

I was never any good at word problems.  

Oftentimes, needlessly offensive words hang around our body parts.  

Example: “I nodded my head.”

Your head? Really? As opposed to nodding your foot?  Your elbow? Your spleen?

Example: “I shrugged my shoulders.”

Shoulders are the #1 recipient of shrugs. #2 would be…there is no #2 in shrugging. You shrug your shoulders because no other body part can be shrugged.  You can “shrug it off” but the “it” is relative, and no matter what “it” is, if you shrug it, your shoulders are involved. You can shrug off your jacket, but again, there are the shoulders. Face it. Shrugging = shoulders. Which means, you don’t have to write it down. It’s understood.

Example: “I waved my hand goodbye.”

“Wave” is a fine example of a verb that can be applied to a plethora of choices. You can wave a flag. You can wave a handkerchief. You can wave your hair. Wave is a busy little verb. But if you write, “I waved my hand goodbye,” you’re wasting words. “I waved goodbye” is good enough. We know your hand was involved.

It’s akin to writing, “My legs ran across the road.” Think how busy your legs would be if you included them in every sentence. “I bent my legs at the knees and sat.” “I propelled my legs forward in a speedy motion and ran.” “I used my legs muscles to raise myself and stood up.” Do we write this way? No. We write, “I sat.” “I ran.” “I stood up.” 

This reminds me of one of my favorite sayings about writing: Characters sleep and go to the bathroom, but that doesn’t mean I want to read about it.

And no offense, but…if you are including all that stuff about the legs, you need to work on your writing. 

Does this apply to every body part and verb? No. “Cross” can apply to a range of body parts. You can cross your arms, your legs, your eyes, your ankles. (You can also cross your enemy to show danger, cross off a tip, or cross yourself to show faith, but that’s another blog.) So if you write “I crossed” you need to add a body part.

Ditto on licked: “I looked into his handsome face and licked my lips.”

Now leave out the body part. “I looked into his handsome face and licked.”

That might be fun, but it sure changes the meaning, doesn’t it?

Language can be general, or it can be specific. Meaning can be interpreted. Word count, however, is a number. If you don’t need extra words, don’t add them. If you do, you’ll make the reader work unnecessarily hard, and that might make them late to catch the train to the aquarium.

And needless to say, this is the final last time I will write about it.

The Agony and the Ecstacy of an Anthology

by Ramona DeFelice Long

Last week, the Sisters in Crime Great Unpublished (Guppies) Chapter hit the airwaves with an exciting announcement: Fish Tales, a collection of stories by 22 Guppy authors,  was accepted for publication by Wildside Press. The aftermath of this announcement was a cyber let-the-wild-rumpus begin.  The 22 authors were happy. The Guppy Chapter was happy. SinC National was happy.

I was happy, too. I had the honor of editing the twenty-two stories that will appear as Fish Tales and working with the authors. Some of them were seasoned writers and well published. Others were newbies who submitted a first-time-out story. The stories that came to me reflected the mix of experience. It was my job to help the writers, whatever their level of experience, create the strongest story possible.

The stories were great. I had a blast.

For Fish Tales, a theme was provided: each tale had to include fish or water. The twenty-two interpretations of that make for a couple of surprises in the collection. That’s one of the joys of working with creative, inventive type folks. When faced with a seemingly innocuous theme like fish, or water, creative and inventive people come up with some really creative and inventive stuff. But that’s all I can say about that. To understand what I mean, you’ll have to buy the book.

Themed anthologies are, in my opinion, overlooked gems. They are certainly out there; some are collections put out by professional organizations like Sisters in Crime. Some are by individual writers. Here’s a sampling:

Sherman Alexie‘s Ten Little Indians shares experiences and trials of Native Americans.

In Cold Feet, Elise Juska and four other writers explore the tenuous, and sometimes terrifying, time between engagement and marriage.

Ellen Gilchrist presents a character’s life through stories in Nora Jane.

Insanity and obsession populate The Breaking P0int by Daphne DuMaurier.

It will be another year or so before Fish Tales will be a book in hand. It took twice that long, at least, to put it together from start to finish. That’s not unusual, but there is one element in the history of this anthology that is unusual.

The Guppies refer to their chapter as “The Pond.” When plans for the anthology were announced, it was decided that it would be a total Pond effort. Each author who submitted a story agreed, in turn, to read and critique other submitted stories. Each story was scored. The stories that scored the highest by the submitting authors were granted inclusion into the anthology.

In short, I edited the stories but I did not select them. The Guppies did that part themselves. Hence, The Pond as a whole shares in this joyful development through their democratic process of story selection. It’s not how every anthology is put together, but it certainly makes this one, in my mind, all the more special.

Do you have a favorite story collection? Or have written one?

Tell me about it.

Ramona

 


I

Happy Anniversary to….

by Ramona DeFelice Long

me!

A year ago today, I went public with my Independent Editing lifestyle via this blog.

I call it a lifestyle not to be amusing, although it’s fine if the word causes a chuckle, or ten.  I am all about laissez les bon temps rouler. I’m not trying to be political or politically correct, either, although I do believe people should be allowed to live as they wish, fairly, equally, privately or publicly, and without interference or judgment.

I’m calling this editing thing a lifestyle because, after years of working with clients through word of mouth and/or personal references, declaring to the world that I am here and open for business did, indeed, change my life .

Some of those changes are practical. A year ago, I didn’t have a website or a blog, but here I am today, having conquered the complexities [insert eye roll] of Word Press. People who know my, uh, limited capabilities with technology understand that it was a monumental task to set up this blog without assistance, calls to 911 or bouts of crying. (Okay, maybe there was a bout of crying. Just one, though.)

Over the past year, I learned to post, embed, link, update posts, manage comments, zap spam and fun stuff like that.  Simple skills, but who doesn’t love a growing skill set?

Over the past year, I wrote posts that posed ethical dilemmas (Is it okay to abuse a character to drive the plot forward?); shared writing experiences (How I wrote my Evie story in one sitting.); conducted surveys (How many pages do you read before you give up on a story?); discussed writing topics (Branding, writers getaways, retreats, conferences); encouraged grant seekers (The Art of the Artist Statement); and offered lessons and impressions for other authors (How to write a novel in three acts).

Over the past year, I posted links and alerts to happenings: the DLC’s Kerouac event; Philadelphia Stories’ contest; DDOA grant deadlines; Delaware area readings; author interviews. I did some BSP, too–and will do some more right now: I’ll be guest blogging at the Working Stiffs on Thursday, and look for me in the next issue of Sisters in Crime’s Guppy Newsletter.

In short, I’ve tried to be a full service blog.

All of this, while lots of fun, was also a means to an end. I wanted to reach new clients. A year ago, I had a wonderful mix of clients. Now, I have a larger mix of wonderful clients. By this time next year, I hope to have a more wonderful mix of more wonderful clients.

Every client brings something new to me and my editing lifestyle. When I work with a new writer, I relay my understanding that turning over work for editing is a brave and terrifying step. Fiction may be made up, but stories are personal. A writer who has a story critiqued is not just offering a story, but also offering trust.

Every story that I read arrives with a silent, inherent message: I trust you to read my words, to tell me how to make my story better, to treat me and my work with respect.  A person can’t do this for very long without appreciating the gravity of that message.

Over the last year, some people came to me through word of mouth. Some saw interviews I did and contacted me. Some I contacted after a writer tipped me off. Some surfed the Internet and landed on this doorstep. Some saw me rambling around on Facebook. No matter the route that got us together, every client offered the message of trust.

Those of you who have entrusted me with your work, I thank you for that honor. On this blog anniversary day, I want to put that in writing.

Merci and I look forward to another year of sharing the lifestyle.

Ramona