Writing

Divorce Your Words; Save Your Story

KWhipkey 4 Comments

Revision. For many writers, I may as well have said Root Canal. They dread it like they do a jury duty summons. They know it’s necessary but hate every second of it.

I’m not one of those writers. Revision is actually my favorite part. There’s something so satisfying in tearing apart a story to reassemble it in a better version, polishing and cutting and rearranging it like pieces in a puzzle until everything finally clicks. I don’t fear the delete button, I wield it proudly. That 6 page scene I slaved over for three weeks still isn’t working? Buh-bye! Two-thirds of my story is riddled with plot-holes, superficial characters and overall stinkage? Adiós! The word count is too high for the magazine I want to submit to? No problem, let me grab my scalpel.

How am I able to freely chop my manuscripts into little mutilated bits? I don’t marry my words. Maybe that’s a perk of writing like a film director. I don’t see words on a page, I see the scenes themselves. The words are just a way for me to communicate those scenes to my audience. They’re my camera. So when what I’m trying to convey gets lost in translation, I have no problem chucking them and trying again.

I know, I’m extreme. Cutting an entire section is most writer’s worst nightmare. But sometimes, that’s exactly what needs to happen in order to save your story. Sometimes, you have to strip it down to it’s bare bones before you can build it back up. Sometimes, you have to hit delete.

Similar to “kill your darlings,” which tells us our favorite phrases are also the cancer of our manuscript and should be instantly removed, you have to divorce your words before you can successfully revise. Easier said than done, right? I know how hard it is for some of you to disconnect from those precious patterns of words and beautiful phrases, to see past the letters to the plot itself. Which is why I decided to write this post. I’m going to teach you my method of revision in the hopes that it helps some of you become less afraid of the process. :)

Step 1: Remove the Rose-Colored Glasses of Creation

Let’s face it, when we’re wrapped up in a love affair with our muse, we think everything we write is brilliant. There are days when we know it isn’t, because we’re having a lover’s spat with the fickle biatch, but deep down, we still think our manuscript can do no wrong. Everything is tinged with the rosy glow of creation.

You’ve heard of the runner’s high, yes? The rush of endorphins that provides runners with a euphoric moment in paradise? Well, I believe creative people feel a similar burst of euphoric pride, a creator’s high if you will, that prevents us from seeing our work the way the rest of the world will. So the first step in my revision process is to disconnect from the piece. Set whatever you’re working on aside and wait for the creator’s high to wear off. This can take anywhere from a day, to a couple weeks. But once you’re no longer creatively invested in the piece, you’ll be able to see it through the harsh lens of reality and objectively assess it.

Step 2: Strip to the Bare-Bones

Once our judgement is no longer clouded, we can easily spot flaws, the scenes that just aren’t quite right, the wonky phrasing, the plot holes. Don’t get discouraged though, that’s exactly what we want. Because now you’re in editing mode. One of an editor’s jobs is to see past the words to the skeleton beneath. So that’s exactly what step 2 is about.

Read your manuscript again, ignoring the small things, the weird word choices, the rocky sentences, the missing punctuation, and focus on the scenes themselves, the flow of the story. (Click here if you need an explanation on what I consider “flow.”) Channel your inner film director and watch your story unfold in your mind. Kind of like one of those computer generated posters that contained a 3-D image if you crossed your eyes and stared long enough, (Yep, fads from the ’90′s for the win!), the words should fall away and you should be left with just the visuals they contained.

Those visuals are what I consider the skeleton of a piece, the bare bones. Once you have stripped away all the clothing, fat and useless fluff that masks the underlying architecture, you can analyze that skeleton, looking for cracks and weaknesses and in some extreme places, breaks. Much like a doctor examines x-rays, devising a strategy to repair the damage, an editor uses the bare bones of a story to identify and repair problems with the overall flow and structure. Which brings us to step 3.

Step 3: Divorce Your Words

This is where a lot of you are likely to rebel, because it’s where you’ll move from simply identifying the issues to becoming the surgeon that fixes them. And that’s a transition a lot of you might not like. (Warning, it involves heavy use of the delete button.)

Keeping the visuals from step 2 in mind, read your manuscript again. This time, compare what you’re reading to what’s in your head. Do they match? Do the words accurately convey the emotional content, the action, the details of the scene? If not, can it be fixed with a few minor tweaks or smoothing? (Not all editing has to be dramatic, after all.) Sometimes it just takes a minute shift of a single word or phrase to make everything perfect. But if the gap between the scene as you imagine it and what’s on the page is as large as the grand canyon, then you’ll have to do something more drastic– rewrite.

This is what it means to divorce your words. Highlight the trouble passage and say, “sayonara!” No alimony, no visitation, just rip it off like a band-aid and hit delete. (If that terrifies you, you can cheat slightly and copy/paste the original passage into a different file. That way you still have it if you don’t like the new version. But trust me, you’ll never need that safety net.)

Now that you have a blank slate, picture the scene as clearly as you can and try to recapture it. You’ll be surprised how often the second, (or third, or fourty-fifth), attempt is dramatically improved over the original. My theory is that the original acts as a dry-run. In film, they’d call it blocking in the scene. It’s essentially a rough draft placeholder meant to provide guidance for the real thing in terms of lighting, mood, choreography, etc. It helps the director organize their thoughts so that when the time comes to film it for real, it’s smooth sailing. Plus it’s cheaper to work out the kinks without the actual actors.

A similar thing happens when you rewrite. Rather than try and force the original to behave, you are free to start over. But because you’ve already practiced, it’s easier to write this time, and the result is a closer translation of the scene in your head.

That’s really all there is to it. Three simple steps that can take you from laboriously beating a broken carcass of letters into a semblance of what you hoped for to a liberating experience that gets you closer to your original goal. This method might not be for everyone, and that’s quite OK. But if you find yourself dreading the revision process like you would going to the dentist for that root canal, give it a try. Kick your words to the curb and you might just save your sanity as well as your story.

Believability; It’s Not an Option

KWhipkey Leave a comment

This week I started work on the Revision Project, as I’m dubbing it. For those of you just joining us, the Revision Project refers to the massive overhaul I’m giving my previously published short stories before re-releasing them. I won’t go into the details of why I’m doing this again, so if you’re curious, check out the post where I explain my reasoning at length.

Anyway, reading these manuscript dinosaurs in preparation to give them their much needed facelifts, I’ve realized just how much I’ve learned about myself as a writer and about storytelling in general over the past year. Largely thanks to this blog. Nothing makes you understand a process faster than having to break it down and explain it to someone else. I learned that during my martial arts training, but apparently it’s equally true for writing. Which is why seeing those old works through the filter of fresh perspective brought to light a common theme that plagues them– a distinct lack of authenticity.

This is particularly true for The Bardach, which was my earliest endeavor and admittedly the weakest of the three. But there are moments in all of them that feel superficial to me now. Like we’re just grazing the surface, floating over the action like we’re peering down at it through a snow-globe. And it got me thinking. Why is that? When I wrote them, I didn’t feel this lack of investment, even after the rose-colored glasses of creation had worn off and the overly critical ones of the editor returned. So what’s changed?

I said in my article about storytelling for demo teams that story is about conveying an emotional message. That’s a dramatic difference from the way I used to view it. I used to focus primarily on plot. The characters were in an integral part, of course, but the narrative focused more around the action than anything else. I wrote like a film director rather than an author, worrying about how to convey the cinematic dance of camera angles instead of creating fully realized, three-dimensional characters. That’s not to say that I wasn’t able to weave a story that had impact. I think Confessions managed that. But emotional depth wasn’t necessarily my strong suit. Then along came Unmoving, a story so completely focused on the inner turmoil of the lead character that it forced me out of my comfort zone. It made me grow as a writer. It made me redefine my idea of storytelling.

I feel this is a common journey for newer writers, and especially younger writers. When we first start out, we try so hard to mimic the examples of storytelling we’ve been exposed to– film, TV, video games, books– that we end up missing the point. We manage to learn the basics of narrative– how to craft an action-packed plot, write witty/natural-sounding dialogue, paint settings with just the right amount of detail– but we never learn the one thing that really resonates with readers. Believability.

There are two types of believability in storytelling. The first, making sure all the details and logistics of your story make sense, is a pet peeve of mine and has already been ranted about in a previous post. So we’ll jump right to the second type– emotional believability. This is what takes a good story to a great one. Take a moment and think about all the books that have ever moved you. Now think about why. I’m probably not far off in guessing that the answer had to do with feeling invested in the characters, in their struggles, their emotions? That’s what I mean by emotional believability. It’s an authenticity that speaks to the core of human nature, to themes that transcend genres and are universally understood. It’s the ability to translate personal experience onto the page, and it only seems to come with maturity.

There’s a reason they always say “write what you know.” Personally, I never subscribed to that. I’m a fantasy writer, so how am I supposed to write what I know when what I know is too dull and ordinary for the worlds I like to hang out in? It’s not like I can go to the zoo and observe the behavioral patterns of a unicorn, now can I? So I always threw that phrase out like wasted salt. Until now. Now I get it. It’s not about writing what you know in the literal sense, (although it can be, depending on what you’re writing), it’s about using your experiences to infuse believability into your story, to fully immerse your readers into that character’s existence, to move them.

Now, I’m not saying that younger writers can’t craft a great story. I’ve read well-done work written by all ages. What I’m saying is that there is a definite difference between the way someone writes when they’re new to writing, or life, or both and the way they write after they’ve been around the block a few times. But rather than argue theory, or semantics, or what-have-you, how about I just give you an example from my own writing. Examples always trump convoluted discussions in my opinion.

As some of you may know, I’ve had the privilege of being stalked by a panic disorder for most of my life, but it wasn’t until about two years ago that I actually suffered what can be officially declared a “panic attack.” As in a complete freak-out, hyper-ventilating fear-fest of doom. (I know, I make it sound so dramatic, huh? 😉 ) But panic attacks have appeared in my writing far longer, making them the perfect candidate to help illustrate my point.

Here is an example from The Bardach: (Note, this was written before I had suffered one myself.)

Amyli shook her head to try and clear it from the fog that suffocated her thoughts and followed her study partner down secret corridors she had never known existed within the Temple’s simple construction. Even encased in the thick stone of the walls, she could hear the screams of the dying. And suddenly the walls themselves seemed to be closing in, the air thick and stifling. She stumbled and clutched at Calinfar’s hand.

“Wait, I can’t!” she gasped, trying to breathe, one hand against her chest. Calinfar stopped immediately.

“What’s wrong? Amyli?” He grabbed her shoulders once more, releasing the injured one quickly when she winced. Welling tears glistened in her vision as she gazed into his concerned face and suddenly everything that was happening washed over her with the force of a burst dam.

Aside from the various other quality issues in that excerpt, did you notice how superficial it was? You get the idea that she’s having a panic attack through my attempt to describe it with overly-used, clichéd phrasing and imagery. But you don’t feel it, do you? It’s over too fast to really elicit more than a shoulder-shrugging “meh” from the reader. You’re not invested in Amyli’s emotional state, even if you had read the context leading up to it. You could take it or leave it at this point. Nothing about that moment will stay with you past the 10 seconds it took you to read it.

Now, here’s an example from Unmoving: (Yes, that’s right, a rare tidbit from my work-in-progress.)

The resounding clap as the wood violently met its frame shuddered through me, and I knew what was about to happen. In an effort to avoid the oncoming storm of remembrance, I stared at the flurry of peeling white paint her exit had sent drifting to the floor. But that only made it worse.

Instantly, the images I had tried so hard to forget crushed me like an avalanche. I saw snow swirling in the darkness, heard the squeal of tires trying to find traction, the snap and whipping sound of the seat-belt, smelled the sickening mix of burning rubber and dirty slush. Her screams pierced the memory like a relentless soundtrack, echoes of terror I could never outrun.

I braced myself and waited for it to pass, for the tightness in my chest to diminish and the invisible stranglehold on my throat to ease. Every time I felt the wave of adrenaline crash over me, I wondered if this is what it felt like to drown.

See the difference? That was written after I had experienced the horror of a panic attack for myself. You can feel it now, can’t you? (I hope so anyway.) The words have a sense of urgency, the descriptions are more realistic, the emotions believable. Even without the context prior to this, you can sympathize with him. That’s the difference a little life experience can make.

So the point of this long-winded ramble-thon is this: believability isn’t an option. If you want to write something that resonates with readers, you have to learn how to create that deeper level of immersion. How you go about learning that depends on you. You can wait for life experience to cast the slant of a more mature perspective on things. You can mooch off other people’s life experience, using research and interviews to beef up your knowledge of things you aren’t familiar with. Or you can fake it ’til you make it, as they say, and just keep writing, letting practice hone your ability for you. However you go about it though, strive for authenticity. You’ll know when you find it, and your readers will love you for it. Guaranteed.

The Next Big Thing: A Sneak Peek at Unmoving

KWhipkey 4 Comments

No, I’m not delusional, thinking my little, (as yet unfinished), project is going to rival the likes of The Twilight Saga, Harry Potter, The Hunger Games or 50 Shades of Grey. (At least, I’m not that delusional publicly.) I was tagged in The Next Big Thing Blog Hop by Jon over at Jumping From Cliffs. Normally, I’m not one to participate in chain-letter-esque things, preferring to walk the dangerous line of deleting/chucking them in spite of their explicit warnings of death and dismemberment should you do so. What can I say? I’m a daredevil like that. But this one seems benign enough, and offers a chance to show love to some of the bloggers I follow regularly. So I’ll participate. This time. (Plus, I must admit to feeling like a giddy school-girl whenever someone links back to my work, so I felt I had to pay that forward. Earn some Karma points, make someone’s day and all that jazz.)

What’s in it for you guys? Well, before I send you bouncing to some of the awesome blogs I’ve found over the past year, I have to answer ten interview questions about my latest work. Which means, you’re about to get a rare sneak peek at Unmoving, my nemesis of a manuscript that will probably never be finished. Seriously, they’ll bury it with me under a headstone that reads, “Here lies Kisa, the girl who needed two lifetimes to finish one book.” But enough cynicism. On to the questions! 🙂

What is the working title of your book? 

This story has had three titles over the course of it’s life, which is extremely rare for me. The first, and I can’t believe I’m about to admit it to the world, was Sleeping Handsome. Awful, I know. That’s why it never made it to the light of day. It was supposed to be a pun on Sleeping Beauty, which is what it’s loosely modeled after, but still. That’s no excuse. I’m blushing from embarrassment now. Great.

The second title was, The Man Who Can’t Be Moved, back when I thought it was just going to be another short story. After my normal brilliance at title selection failed me, I took the easy way out, naming it after the song that inspired it. But it always felt wrong to essentially steal the title, even though, technically, titles can’t be copyrighted. So when I realized that I couldn’t tell the story the way it needed to be told in 6000 words, I re-examined the themes I wanted to explore, searching for something that resembled the song title while still encompassing the darker tones of my version. Unmoving seemed to do just that. Similar in feel to the song, but vague enough to reference multiple themes in the text, it seemed like the perfect fit. So Unmoving it is. Officially. For now.

What genre does your book fall under?

Contemporary/Urban Fantasy.

What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?

Loosely based on Sleeping Beauty, Unmoving is a tale about what happens when you choose wrong at defining life moments.

Where did you get the idea for your book? 

From a song. “The Man Who Can’t Be Moved,” by The Script, to be exact. Don’t ask how I managed to get something so dark and emotionally complex out of such a sweet song, because I really don’t know. I just did. It would take me far too long to explain my strange creative process, so instead, I’ll just refer you to the post where I rambled on about it for days. If you really want to know more, it’ll all be explained there.

Who or what inspired you to write this book? 

I have to give credit to my husband for this one. And not because Derek is in any way, shape or form modeled after him. Just to set that record straight right now. I do have characters that contain elements of him, but Derek isn’t one of them.

We’re both big Script fans, (well, I’m a huge fan; he just indulges me to avoid the fight over the stereo), but I was never that fond of “The Man Who Can’t Be Moved.” It’s a good song, but it just never held my attention the way “Breakeven” and some of their newer ones do. He loved it though. (He’s totally going to hate me for admitting that to world, too. Love you, babe!) I think it’s still one of his favorites by them. So if it weren’t for him forcing me to listen to it over and over again when I probably would have rather skipped it, I’m not sure Unmoving would ever have been born. Although, it was pretty much everywhere for a while there, so knowing me, it would have spawned eventually anyway. He just helped it along.

I hope he likes what came out of it, though. He’s always surprised and kind of horrified, I think, by how badly I can mangle some of his favorite songs when they decide to become Spawners.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript? 

I’ll let you know when I’ve completed it. 😉

Currently, I’ve invested about 3 years and am maybe a third of the way through. To be fair, though, I did take some significant chunks of time off to work on other projects, and had to rewrite the opening scene about a hundred times. It’s incredibly hard to find the perfect balance of jackass and sympathetic hero. But once I found Derek’s groove, things smoothed out. Some. If I’m lucky, I might have it finished by the time I’m 50.

What other books would you compare this story with in your genre? 

Hmmm…I’m not sure I’ve really read too many that are similar. Honestly! I’m not trying to be pretentious and think that I stumbled on something original. I just haven’t crossed paths with titles that are like this one yet. But if I had to, I guess I could compare it to the following:

  • Sleeping Beauty: For the obvious reason that the core premise of Unmoving is a modernized version of the fairytale with a gender twist.
  • Beauty and the Beast: Fans of this fable will recognize the idea behind the confrontation with the witch, and a few other elements. I started out aiming for Sleeping Beauty, but apparently I had to throw my favorite fairytale in for good measure.
  • A Christmas Carol: Odd comparison maybe, but when you read it, you’ll see. There are definite echoes of the whole Ghosts of Christmas thing.
  • Inception: Yeah, I know, not a book. But I loved how complicated and layered that movie was, and while you see that style of storytelling a lot in film, I’m not sure I’ve ever run across it in literature. Maybe that’s because you can’t really do it with words, but I’m going to try. It’s good to have aspirations right? Even if they are slightly delusional.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition? 

I don’t tend to think of my characters like this. Partly because I’m a freak and I see them in animation rather than live-action, and partly because I feel like it would potentially color the way I write them. I don’t want other people’s traits and quirks bleeding into my characters from those played by the actor I’ve chosen. But, I suppose, just this once, I’ll play along. If only because it will give you, the readers, a visual frame of reference for the way I picture the characters.

Ian Somerhalder, from “The Vampire Diaries”, has the right broody snarkiness to play Derek, the main character. Plus, he’s pretty pleasant on the eyes, right ladies? 😉 Elaine, (the love interest), is supposed to be the exact opposite of Derek. She’s fair and bubbly and everything positive that he isn’t. So we need a blonde, I think. Someone like Katherine Heigl or Candace Accola (also from “The Vampie Diaries”) would be in the right vein. (Yeah, obviously I’m a big Vampire Diaries fan, what of it?)

As for the witch, she’s a chameleon, appearing in several different versions throughout the story, so we’d need several different actresses to play her. And some bright green contacts. But I think I’ll leave that decision up to the casting director, if and when, it ever comes to that.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency? 

My current plan is that the Synchronicity Series, of which Unmoving is Book 1, will be self-published. My reason is that this series is very intricately tied together. Each book contains scenes pointing to the next one where the seemingly separate stories cross for a brief moment. Like Easter Eggs on a DVD, readers will be able to figure out which set of characters will be featured in the next book and see scenes from the previous one from a different perspective. Which is why I don’t want to risk the uncertainty of traditional publishing, where they may only ever take the one book, or take them out of order. Since the series depends on it’s sequence, that really wouldn’t work out so well.

Also, it’s Urban Fantasy. And the rest of my millions of plot bunnies are not. So while I’m currently working in this genre, I don’t want to be pigeon-holed into it. I feel I have some potentially awesome ideas in other genres that deserve to be heard too. So my grand scheme is this: self-publish the Synchronicity Series, and pursue traditional publishing with everything else. I hear this kind of hybrid approach to publishing is becoming popular, so we’ll see if it works. I just can’t quite give up my dream of walking through the aisles of Barnes & Noble and seeing my book on its shelves, you know?

What else about your book might pique your reader’s interest? 

How about the blurb? Since that one line synopsis is pretty vague and I’ve never really divulged details before, here’s an added bonus– the blurb that would potentially grace the back cover. (Disclaimer: It’s still a work in progress and I kind of just pulled it out of thin air, so read it with a forgiving eye please. I’m sure the final version will be much much better.)

After a horrific car accident cost him the woman he loved, Derek Richards checked out of humanity, turning off all emotion except callous disregard. But when a confrontation with a homeless woman leaves him literally turned to stone on a park bench, he is forced to relive every defining moment in his life, every decision he made for the wrong reasons. Had Karma been watching him all along? And is it too late to change his ways?

Now it’s time to play tag. Below are 5 blogs that I follow on a regular basis, some because they’re informative, some because they’re inspiring, and some because they’re just plain entertaining. Why 5? I’m only allowed 5. Those are the rules. But I feel like bending them, so I’ll also point you to the handy widget on the bottom right of the page.  (If you’re reading with an RSS, email, or some other feed system, you won’t see it, I’m afraid.) There, you’ll find a list of 19 blogs I happen to think are pretty awesome.

And don’t forget to check out Jumping From Cliffs, the person who sponsored this lovely sneak peek of Unmoving. If I hadn’t already linked back to him, twice, he would have been included in the list below. His sarcastic wit has me laughing on a regular basis. Have fun blog hopping!

  1. Catherine Howard: Catherine, Caffeinated (Superb resource on all things self-publishing, with a bit of sarcasm on the side.)
  2. Katie Jennings: She Writes With Love (Some good posts about marketing for indie authors.)
  3. Publishing Crawl: (A collection of authors, agents & editors that write about everything from writing, to new book releases, to publishing.)
  4. Robert Watson: An Orthogonal Universe Blog (Still kind of new, with only a few posts, but I happen to know that he has a fantastic novel releasing soon that you should all check out. This is called The Next Big Thing right? 😉 )
  5. Jay Kristoff: Jay Kristoff– Literary Giant (I love his sarcastic sense of humor, but be warned, his blog’s not really intended for those with sensitive ears. If you don’t mind a little profanity in your snark, then enjoy!)

A Writer’s Resolutions

KWhipkey 2 Comments

It’s that time of year again. The well-meaning crowd into gyms, flocking like vultures on a carcass for a few weeks, until the lure of their previous lives becomes too strong, rendering those automatic, monthly gym membership debits an obsolete waste of money. Loose change and random dollars find themselves stuffed into jars like nuts stashed by a squirrel, where they’ll remain unspent until about March. The Goodwill sees a sudden influx of clothing, electronics and random crap as Purge-fever strikes across the land. Yep, it’s resolution time.

But “resolution” doesn’t have to be a word that elicits a groan of agonized dread, or instantly calls up geeky visions of pixels on a screen. Believe it or not, resolutions can actually be your friend. They don’t have to be some grand creature of good intention. In fact, they shouldn’t be if you want any hope of actually keeping them. After all, they’re really just goals disguised in a longer, more pretentious-sounding word for intimidation factor. Goals aren’t scary, are they?

Personally, I find them highly motivating. When I meet them, that is. They give me a clear-cut mission, something to work towards, a path through the aimless. The trick is making them specific. And New Year’s Resolutions are no different. Everyone has the standard “lose weight/get in shape,” “get out of debt,” “fall in love,” “spend time with family,” resolutions. But those are also the ones we never keep. Why? Because they’re a vague description of some ideal we’d maybe kind of like to get to. They don’t give us any direction. No instructions. No plan. Of course we can’t keep them!

We’ll try valiantly for a few months, until we decide that we just don’t like sweating as much as we like donuts; that the mountain of debt isn’t going anywhere until we win the lottery; that love is a fickle bastard who likes to play practical jokes; and that there was a reason we didn’t hang out with the relatives.

Instead of focusing on unattainable, murky-type goals, narrow the playing field to one specific region– say, writing. Think about what you’d like to achieve over the next year. And don’t just throw out things like, “I want to write more,” “I want to get published,” “I want to stalk Stephenie Meyer.” (Ok, maybe not the last one, but you get the idea.) These are no different than the goals I listed before. Instead, break those vague resolutions down to their individualized steps. Like a to-do list on steroids.

You want to write more? Great. How much? Define it by word count, pages or chapters, but define it. You want to be published? Awesome! What do you need to do to get there? Write a query letter? A synopsis? Both? Figure out the small steps that will ultimately lead you to your goal and make each one its own resolution. You want to stalk Stephenie Meyer? I’d suggest investing in some psychiatric help instead. But that’s cool. I’m pretty sure you can still read this from the computer lab in jail. 😉

The point of a New Year’s Resolution isn’t to put so much pressure on yourself that you fail the second you write it down. It’s more about defining the larger tasks you want to accomplish within a year’s worth of time, rather than on a day to day basis. So don’t make them so specific that you’ve gone through the whole list within 5 minutes on Jan 1st. But don’t let them be so broad that you’re left without a sense of direction either. That perfect balance in between is the key to a successful resolution.

Let’s give it a try, shall we? Below are my personal writing resolutions for 2013. Notice how each goal is specific enough to give me a plan of action, but not so specific that I can accomplish it quickly. Chances are, I won’t meet most of them, (because let’s face it, I’m better at planning and organization than I am at follow-through), but at least I defined them into plausible chunks I could attain if I applied myself. And that’s the first step.

Writing Resolutions 2013

  • Finish the rough draft of Unmoving
  • Upload Chapters of Unmoving every two weeks to Wattpad & Authonomy
  • Revise and Re-publish The Bardach, Spinning & Confessions via Createspace/Amazon KDP
  • Compile brief synopses of all plot bunnies
  • Write, Edit & Publish one new short story

Now it’s your turn. What are your writing resolutions for 2013? Share them in the comments below! 🙂

(P.S. A big Thank You to everyone who entered the Holiday Giveaway. The winners have been chosen and notifications will be going out via email. Congratulations to those who won; keep your eyes on your inbox to find out if it was you. 😉 )

Revising Previously Published Work

KWhipkey Leave a comment

Every author has that cringe-worthy first piece. That manuscript that, when looked upon years later, makes them scratch their heads in consternation and think, “Dear God! How did this ever get published?!” And usually, there’s nothing they can do about it. It marks their first victory in publishing with a pseudo-embarrassing reminder. But what if there was a chance to go back and fix those previously published works? A moment when, maybe, they aren’t printed in stone, and you can erase the flaws that haunt you? A publishing loop-hole, as it were.

I tried Googling this topic, and literally found one article, which wasn’t really so much an article as a discussion thread arguing over the merits of changing previously published novels. It was distinctly unhelpful, so I didn’t bother to save it. For every person that had a reason to do it, there were about six that disagreed, claiming it was akin to sacrilege.  So I moved on, looking for anything resembling helpful advice. I ended up posting my own thread on one of the literature sites I frequent, and finally got some interesting insight.

The general consensus is that no, you should never revise previously published work. Once it’s been published, leave it alone, because what can you really do with it at that point? Any attempt to republish would have to go up against the fact that it had been previously published, and most publishers aren’t looking for sloppy seconds. (Unless, of course, you’re self-publishing the second time around, in which case it returns to a philosophical debate rather than a practical one.)

But there was one exception to that rule: Re-branding.

I spoke about Author Branding previously, so I won’t go into detail about it here. Essentially, re-branding involves creating a new perception around your work, your name, and your Author Persona. But why would anyone ever want to do that? Creating an Author Brand is hard enough the first time! Why would you want to throw that all away and start over?

In my case, and probably a lot of other women out there, re-branding happens because of a name change. I was fortunate enough to accrue three publishing credits under my maiden name, and I will be forever grateful to Sam’s Dot Publishing for seeing potential in my work. But then I got married. Which pretty much negated those publishing credits and put me back at square one, trying to build a new brand under my new identity, and presenting me with a interesting conundrum. How could I tie my new brand to those previous works and save what little evidence of my awesomeness I had?

Eventually, I realized I had been given a rare opportunity to re-brand my previous works, which was instantly pounced on by my perfectionist side. If I was re-releasing them, what would be the harm in fixing them first?

Those first three stories aren’t horrific; they did, after all, pass the experienced eye of an editor. But they’re also not true representations of my ability now. Looking at that first story in particular, I can see all the places it comes up short. Which begged the question, why put this back out into the world if it doesn’t put my best foot forward? I could just let it fade away into obscurity, collecting dust in a drawer somewhere while the 5 people that read it completely forget about it.

But I don’t really want to do that. For one, self-publishing relies on being prolific and ignoring those three stories cripples my already bordering-on-pathetic offering of available products. Second, all three are precursors to larger bodies of work. And everyone loves extra content, right? That’s basically the whole reason Director’s Cut DVD’s exist and why they cost four times as much for the same movie. And three, they still represent my style and genre of choice, which makes them completely relevant additions to my backlist of available works.

Except that the quality isn’t up to par.

Now, I know what you’re thinking; there are lots of reasons why revising is a bad idea. And you’re right. Here are a few of the major negatives I came up with and how I justified my way out of them. 😉

Doesn’t revising previously released work ruin the integrity of the piece? You’re basically declaring that your first version was crap and everyone who read it wasted their time.

It does feel kind of wrong to essentially negate everything I’ve done before. But I don’t think it really ruins the integrity of the story. I’m not planning on doing a complete overhaul, just another layer of polish to bring the quality up to the level I am now. So if the story structure is the same, is it really that different?

Now, if I was planning on rewriting the entire thing from scratch, changing everything from character names to sequence of events, sure, this argument would definitely apply. At that point, it’s not so much a revision as a completely new piece based on a previous one.

What’s the point? If you’re spending time working on old stuff, then you aren’t creating anything new.

It’s true, if you’re working on old stuff, chances are, you aren’t working on anything new. There are only so many productive hours in a day, after all. But writers have a tendency to chase perfection like dogs chasing their tails. And it’s about as futile.

The hardest thing to learn as an author is when to let go. When to declare something done, finished, and untouchable. Revising published work goes against that. It says that it’s OK to linger in the past, tweaking and perfecting into eternity. And that’s a dangerous line to walk. Nothing will ever be perfect. You’ll continue to grow as an author, and with every progression, all your previous work will suck in comparison. But I still think it can be done if you put restrictions on it. For instance, I know this is my only chance to do this. Once I re-release them, that’s it. I’m not allowed to touch them again. If it weren’t for the fact I was in the process of re-branding myself, I wouldn’t have succumbed to the temptation at all. But for the sake of presenting my best work, I’m choosing to play with fire. I may get burned, but as Walter on The Finder would say, “I’mma risk it.”

They’re short stories, why even bother? The reader market for short stories is small, and you’ve already said they’re part of larger projects. Why not just write the full versions and forget about the shorties?

Honestly, the reason I’m not willing to just set them aside is simply because I don’t want to. (Picture that with a four year old’s petulant foot-stomp and crossed arms.) I spent nearly a year refining each of them, and I don’t want to throw away three years of my life. Plus, I’m a super slow writer, as evidenced by the fact I just admitted to spending a year on a short story. So writing the full version of each will likely take me eons. And really, what else am I going to do with them? There’s virtually no market for republication of short stories. At least this way, they’ll get to have a longer shelf-life and maybe reach more than the 5 people who read them the first time.

As you can tell, I’ve had quite the long argument with myself over this, at times feeling like I was battling a split personality. But the conclusion I’ve drawn is that, like everything surrounding writing, it really comes down to the individual author and what’s best for their career. In my case, I feel the pros outweigh the cons. I’ll get to erase all the little things that irritate me in each story and re-release them with a feeling of confidence instead of resignation. For now. I’m sure later on, I’ll wish I could fix them again. But by then, my brand will be established and that would be like diving head first into the flames of perfectionist hell. I’d probably never get out alive.

But what about you? What do you think of revising previously published work? If you were presented with the opportunity, would you do it?