I had a rough moment a couple of weeks ago when I realized the ending to my story sucked.
Yep, that’s right — sucked. A big one.
While going through my second pass of revisions, I experienced a horrible sinking feeling deep in my gut as it suddenly hit me that the ending completely lacked the emotional punch I was going for. It was drab, blase, and anti-climactic. Now, in all honesty, it probably would have been okay, but I’ve never been satisfied with anything I do being just okay, so I grabbed my metaphorical hatchet and got busy hacking away at the last four chapters.
Don’t get me wrong, tearing apart what I’d written wasn’t easy. It was heart-breaking, really. The epilogue was one of the first scenes I’d envisioned and had been in the back of my mind the entire time I was writing the first draft. Unfortunately, I had a sentimental attachment to the final few pages that was getting in the way of the story.
And I’d broken one of my own cardinal rules of writing — I rushed the ending. There’s nothing I hate more as a reader than when I feel like the writer suddenly realizes she’s over her intended word count and has to hurry up and wrap up the story in 10 pages or less. It pisses me off, frankly, to invest that kind of time reading 350 pages (or more) only to have the end rush by too quickly. I want the full realization of the Happily Ever After — even if it’s only a Happily Ever After For Now.
The good news is that I noticed the problem and did what was necessary to fix it. Basically, I rewrote the parts that didn’t work and strengthened the parts worth saving. And my much beloved epilogue was scrapped entirely. As tough as it was to make such drastic edits, the ending is much more solid and action-packed and captures the essence of the central romantic relationship a lot better that what I had originally written.
The lesson I’d like to impart is this: Sometimes, for the good of the story, you have to discard what you’ve got and start over. Of course, recognizing this fact and actually acting on it is another matter. It takes a certain amount of courage and faith to make revisions this extreme, courage to throw out your hard work and faith in the belief that you can do better.
Is it easy? Hell, no! It’s hard. It’s painful. But, alas, sometimes it’s necessary.
9
Dec
I am happy to report that the revision process for my current project is going great! Of course, I have to admit that this time around I had an additional leg up on the editing process — professional feedback.
A few months ago, I took a chance and entered excerpts from my manuscript in two separate contests just to kind of test the waters and get a little constructive criticism. I say this nonchalantly, but make no mistake — writing contests are nerve-wracking, ego-crushing affairs, that are not for the faint of heart. No matter how professional and constructive the criticism (and it was!), having your work torn apart is never easy. So, if humble pie has never really been your favorite dessert, get over your aversion and grab a fork ’cause the humble pie is going to get served up piping hot.
That being said, feedback is essential if you want to make your writing stronger and your story tighter. If you can’t make it to a conference or workshop and haven’t yet joined your local writers group, contests are a great way to get a little honest criticism from professionals. Plus, there’s the added benefit of not having to look the judge in the eye when she tells you that the character you thought leapt off the page is actually one-dimensional and lacking in motivation. (*Sigh*)
Granted, like criticism of any kind, there is some subjectivity involved, so you have to take the comments for what they are — educated and professional opinions. In my case, there were a few comments that made me say, “Wha-huh?” But, for the most part, the judges’ comments confirmed what I thought to be my weaknesses and knew to be my strengths and helped direct my revision process.
And, honestly, it wasn’t all bad! On a bright note, the judges described my excerpts as action-packed, fast-paced, and exciting, and even the judge who gave me the lowest score thought my manuscript showed a lot of promise and would be publishable with another round of editing. Considering the work I submitted was still technically in first draft form, I find this extremely encouraging!
Yay, me!
(Now, let’s just hope an agent or editor feels the same way!)
Moral of the story? As hard as it is to put yourself out there and invite someone to point out your every flaw, get the feedback — it’s invaluable! And you never know, you just might make it to the next round…
