Next to “Where do all your stories come from,” the most frequently asked question of a professional writer is “When do you know your story is finished?” Bruce Dobler, one of my creative writing professors who sadly died two years ago, used to say, a book is finished when the guy writing you a check for it says it is.
Bruce worked for a while as a stand-up comedian and he delivered a goodly dose of that talent in class. However, there is a great deal of truth in what he said. When I am working on a book I usually write until one or two in the afternoon. I can do other editorial chores after that, but the strongest creative muscles are done for the day. If I reach page 265 when I quit for the day, I’ll start the next day by opening the file to page 240 or so and revise as I go. It’s amazing how a fresh look at yesterday’s work enables you to find better words, write shorter, punchier sentences, maybe change a character’s name to something with a little more zing to it.
Therefore, the day to day writing process itself is all about changing through rewriting. You’re always changing, always tightening, listening to the music of your prose. If there ain’t no music, you rewrite till there is. When I reach the point that lies at the end of my outline, when the mystery is solved, boy gets the girl, or the underdog wins, I have by no means finished. I have put into the story all of the elements I set out to include, but could there be other twists? I’ve developed my characters to be as likeable or despicable as the story demands, but have I used the best examples for them to show who they are?
A writer that reaches the theoretical end point in a story has accomplished something, yes. He’s gotten himself to point where the rough cuts are done. Now he’s doing the finer sculpting, sanding and finishing. When that work is complete, and that could take months, given the writer’s schedule, he’s now at the point where he needs fresh eyes to look at what he has written.
Who are the fresh eyes? There are some tremendously talented editors out there who will read and edit for a fee, usually based on bucks for words. Their job is to cut the superfluous, note inconsistencies, suggest action to achieve bigger, brighter results, and say huh? when they don’t follow what’s going on in the story. This can also be accomplished by sending the complete manuscript out to three or four individuals the writer knows who are avid readers, who may write themselves, but most important, will tell it like it is. Sending your manuscript to your mother is a waste of time and paper. Send her flowers. You’ll both be better off for it.
Tallying all of the inputs from your readers will in itself strengthen your book. Also, what your editors say may trigger your own ideas for breakthrough changes. I took my most recent book through all of that. I was so pleased with the new look and feel of it and couldn’t wait to begin marketing it to literary agents. Then my most trusted editor went through the entire revision with a fine-tooth comb. It took a couple weeks for me to execute all of the changes she advocated.
I began marketing the book to literary agents, sending out dynamite query letters along with their preference for short or long synopses, author bio, and in some cases, brief or longer samples. I was delighted when an agent asked to see the entire manuscript. It was gleaming. I was so proud. Less than a week later I received her no thank-you letter. I’m not calling it a rejection because it wasn’t that at all. She said that the book didn’t work for her because the dysfunctional relationship between my main character and his father wasn’t vivid in any particular way; certainly not enough to be the driving wheel of my story.
I spent about two minutes feeling down about her not loving my book in its new, improved state. Then I thought about it. She was right. Not one of my five readers, not even my superhuman detail guru editor saw it. The agent did. I thanked her in a follow-up email for her tips on what I needed to do to really make the story fly. Writing in the new material was almost fun because I could feel the improvement right away.
Will this agent be interested in another read-through? I have no idea. But I do know that no matter who winds up representing this book, that agent will have insights for improving it, as will the eventual editor at the publishing house. When I’ve done the grunt work to pick up the pace, make my bad guy more sinister, or to install an ironic twist at the end that the man writing me a check wants to see, I’ll call it a wrap.
Till later,
Ken