Name your favorite…
HISTORICAL BOAT!
(I know, I’m reaching here. But boats!)
Name your favorite…
HISTORICAL BOAT!
(I know, I’m reaching here. But boats!)
I’ve stopped complimenting people on their necks.
It goes straight to their head.
What mechanical device in your home is the biggest pain in the ass?
Writer comrade Briana Morgan has some thoughts on when you should stop editing.
As writers, we can also be our own worst critics. Our standards are different than everyone else’s. Sometimes the prose is not as bad as our minds make it out to be.
Additionally, editing can turn into a vehicle for procrastination. When we’re afraid to start new projects, we waste all our time on polishing pieces that are already excellent. Sometimes we just need to stop. Sometimes we need to give up.
We need to walk away.
So, when do I stop editing? When it’s time to move on to the next thing. I’m not being flip, here. As a writer, I’m rather like President Josiah Bartlet in my approach: I’m always asking, “What’s next?”
On the novels, I find myself doing three rounds of edits. The first comes after I’ve set the original, first-draft manuscript aside for a while (no shorter than three months, but sometimes quite a bit longer…I still haven’t done first markups on GhostCop (not the actual title) yet). This is when I look for awful inconsistencies to tighten up, awful language to replace, useless words to cut. My goal during this round is always to produce a second draft that is at least 10% shorter than the first. This draft then goes to beta readers.
I seem to have done a great job picking my beta readers, because they always give great feedback in a number of areas, and eventually I apply their critiques (maybe) to the book when I generate a second draft. This is when I really try to strengthen things up, by doing more cutting of extraneous crap and highlighting things like villains and their motivations and the like. After this, generally I do one more edit: a proofread, really, wherein I go through the thing after having a few other people proofread it.
And then, now that I’m fully in the self-publishing gig? That’s when I format and publish.
Right now I am in the second phase of edits for The Wisdomfold Path, after which it will be time to give it to proofreaders. But how do I know when I’m done editing? That is the original question, after all.
I am pretty hard-nosed about this: I only go through the book once during this phase, and I just don’t get hung up on making every single sentence sing. Because, quite frankly, not every single sentence can sing. Am I a perfectionist? As much as I can afford to be. But I can’t take years editing a single book, because I’ve got other ones that need evicted from my head, too.
What also helps is that I’ve set built-in deadlines for myself. Sure, I’m self-publishing, which means I don’t have an editor’s deadline to make, but in reality, I do: it’s just that I’m the one setting it. The Wisdomfold Path has to be out the second week of November, because I’ve promised it to people. For me that’s really the only way to make sure I’ll do the work: set a date and hold myself to that date. That’s a major reason why The Adventures of Lighthouse Boy (not the actual title) is currently on the back burner: had I kept working on it, I would almost certainly be staring down the barrel of missing my deadline for Wisdomfold Path, and that’s just not going to happen.
I’m a believer in quotas and hard dates for completion of things, and I am not a fan of partial projects lingering on the To Do list for long periods of time. A coworker of mine, a guy who taught me a lot about facilities maintenance, once scolded me: “You know, sometimes you have to actually put a project to bed.” That’s pretty true. A whole bunch of partial manuscripts on my hard drive does exactly zero good to anybody. I’m in this to get read, and if you want your books to be read, well…sometimes you have to actually put a book to bed.
(By the way, if anyone’s wondering, I’m about a third of the way through this round of edits on The Wisdomfold Path, and then it’ll be in the hands of proofreaders. I’ll do markups then on the first draft of Ghostcop, and then prep a re-release of Stardancer, on more e-formats than just Kindle and likely to include a preview of Wisdomfold Path. Then, focus will shift to final prep for release, followed by a first draft of GhostCop II, followed by first markups of Stardancer III. Onward and upward! Zap! Pow!!)
Long one this week!
A man is driving down the road and breaks down near a monastery. He goes to the monastery, knocks on the door, and says, “My car broke down. Do you think I could stay the night?” The monks graciously accept him, feed him dinner, even fix his car. As the man tries to fall asleep, he hears a strange sound. The next morning, he asks the monks what the sound was, but they say, “We can’t tell you. You’re not a monk.” The man is disappointed but thanks them anyway and goes about his merry way.
Some years later, the same man breaks down in front of the same monastery. The monks accept him, feed him, even fix his car. That night, he hears the same strange noise that he had heard years earlier. The next morning, he asks what it was, but the monks reply, “We can’t tell you. You’re not a monk.”
The man says, “All right, all right. I’m dying to know. If the only way I can find out what that sound was is to become a monk, how do I become a monk?”
The monks reply, “You must travel the earth and tell us how many blades of grass there are and the exact number of sand pebbles. When you find these numbers, you will become a monk.”
The man sets about his task. Forty five years later, he returns and knocks on the door of the monastery. He says, “I have travelled the earth and have found what you have asked for. There are 145,236,284,232 blades of grass and 231,281,219,999,129,382 sand pebbles on the earth.”
The monks reply, “Congratulations. You are now a monk. We shall now show you the way to the sound.” The monks lead the man to a wooden door, where the head monk says, “The sound is right behind that door.”
The man reaches for the knob, but the door is locked. He says, “Real funny. May I have the key?” The monks give him the key, and he opens the door. Behind the wooden door is another door made of stone. The man demands the key to the stone door. The monks give him the key, and he opens it, only to find a door made of ruby. He demands another key from the monks, who provide it. Behind that door is another door, this one made of sapphire. So it went until the man had gone through doors of emerald, silver, topaz, and amethyst.
Finally, the monks say, “This is the last key to the last door.” The man is relieved to no end. He unlocks the door, turns the knob, and behind that door he is amazed to find the source of that strange sound.
But I can’t tell you what it is, because you’re not a monk.
Ack! It’s Wednesday. Oops.
What’s your favorite astronomical item? (As in, planets, stars, comets, nebulae, et cetera.)
While I’ve been on light-blogging duty, getting the book done and stuff, I’ve been bookmarking a lot of stuff for future comment. So here it all is, with sporadic and brief comment!
:: Ma Ingalls thinks I’m an asshole.
Heh. If it helps, I’m sure that Great-Grandma Ingalls thought that Ma was an asshole, too.
:: A useful history of the Gamergate fiasco.
:: Alysa Rosenberg on Black Widow and The Avengers.
I don’t always agree with Rosenberg — I find her more recent article defending Game of Thrones‘s focus on rape unconvincing and oddly argued — but she generally makes interesting points, as is the case here.
:: The McDonald’s Hot Coffee Lawsuit, explained.
This case has become a shorthand in referring to our overly-litigious society which is prone to frivolous lawsuits. Problem is, this case was hardly frivolous. Read it to see why.
Good article about rail travel in the United States and how its sorry state is reflective of our bizarre attitude towards effective government policy and the way we casually accept measurably poorer policy outcomes if it means “less government”.
:: Woodstock’s undercover lovers, identified.
:: Want to watch fifteen seconds of the most heart-stopping parkour ever filmed? Sure you do!
:: Next time you’re in Budapest, make sure to check out the town’s newest bronze statue to a beloved fictional detective. No, not that one. This one.
:: Finally, The Tragedy of Jar Jar Binks. I’ve already gone into my thoughts on why Jar Jar was as hated as he was, in the Phantom Menace sequence of Fixing the Prequels posts, and this article seems to partially agree: Too much “Comedic hijinks Jar Jar”, and not enough “Screw-up from the warrior species Jar Jar”. I do like to recall, though, that when I saw Revenge of the Sith in the theater on opening day, when Jar Jar appeared for his very-brief cameo in that film, the response in the theater was mainly people who sounded glad to see the guy, however fleetingly.

Know, all who see these lines,
That this man, by his appetite for honor,
By his steadfastness,
By his love for his country,
By his courage,
Was one of the miracles of the God.— Guy Gavriel Kay
Well, how do you do, young Willie McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
And rest for awhile ‘neath the warm summer sun,
I’ve been walking all day, and I’m nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the great fallen in 1916,
I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death-march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
Did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that faithful heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Enshrined then, forever, behind a glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame?
Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death-march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
The sun’s shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that’s still No Man’s Land
The countless white crosses in stand mute in the sand
To man’s blind indifference to his fellow man,
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.
Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death-march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
And I can’t help but wonder, no Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did they really believe when they answered the call,
Did they really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain
The killing and dying, was all done in vain,
For young Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.
Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death-march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?