Editing to Critiques

While writing can seem like a solitary task, the writer is never alone. Aside from the final reader who purchases a novel or reads an author’s short story, there are a lot people who are — or should be — part of the writer’s journey: agents, publishers, first readers, Beta readers, and critique groups. For example, I sent an early draft of “Tag, You’re Dead” to a first reader. While she had several helpful comments on the structure, she was very firm in her critique of the scenes where two characters have tea. I had one character putting milk in his cup first, then the tea. I was even pointed to Mary Poppins for a description of the right way to prepare tea: tea first, THEN the milk. Well, that makes sense when you think about it: the milk cools the hot water, making the tea leaves or tea bags to work harder to brew a proper strength. A minor but important point.

Sometimes, though, critiques may not be helpful, if all they do is offer praise for what the reader liked. Good feedback can appear negative, but a writer can’t allow any slight to the ego to prevent improving the experience for the reader.

Aside from correcting details, critiques can obviously be used to identify major errors in a manuscript, including data dumps and lack of description. In my Time Travel novel, I immediately began the opening scene In Media Res, allowing my protagonist to react to a major problem. While early readers liked the internal dialog, they didn’t understand what was going on, and the MC’s relationship to the other characters wasn’t clear.

Here are the original first couple of paragraphs of the first draft of what I at the time called ”The Anasazi Time Travel Novel.”

The sunset from the south rim of the Grand Canyon was spectacular. Unfortunately I wasn't in any position to appreciate it fully, as I was busy trying not to fall to my death. I had been clinging to a small shelf of Kaibab Limestone, about three meters below the rim-proper, for about the last half hour. I could pull myself up to my elbows, but once again, this time--like the last dozen attempts--I couldn't find a purchase any higher.

     The slippery fieldskin of the t-suit didn't help any, though at least the gloves had friction pads. I couldn't actually see my hands or arms, of course, although there was a migraine-inducing shimmer where they ought to be. Not only would I be as good as invisible as my body bounced the 300 meters to the shelf of the Esplanade, but I'd probably still be invisible for the eight hundred years it would take for the power pack to cease to exist.  Maybe a park ranger would trip over me and slide to his death.

Sure,the scene begins in the middle of the action, but it left the readers with a lot of questions. The answers came later in the novel, but too late for the readers to understand the science fiction concepts. One reader said this in a helpful critique:

“When he’s realized his situation and trying not to die, all of the thoughts and observations and things, well…first of all, I have to ask myself, if someone suddenly found themselves in that situation would they have time to think all of that, and have a wry sense of humor about it? The other thing, and perhaps the more important one to consider is that the tone of his thoughts, and the length and attention on them breaks up the tension a bit.

So I rewrote the opening like this for the renamed “Tales of Time Research Un, Ltd.” 

KEITH EMMONS [Time Anthropologist]

As I jogged into TRU’s Jump room, Dr. Anne Coffey, former love of my life, engaged her time-suit and vanished from the time-transport platform in a pop of displaced air. It wasn’t really a suit, of course, just a field that kept our atoms from exploding or something equally gory at a time we didn’t belong in; almost everything about moving through time consisted of incomprehensible relativistic Quantum-Mumbo Jumbo.

The last love letter I had received from Anne—written in a flowery hand, in ink, and still in its envelope—crinkled in my shirt pocket when I patted it. It still smelled faintly of woodsmoke and patchouli. Maybe this was the mission where Anne would fall in love with me again. Hope springs eternal.

Even I, like some readers, had questions: What is TRU? What’s a Jump Room and what does it look like? And wasn’t there some less maudlin way of explaining the protagonist’s limerance? Alas, some of the critiques weren’t very helpful:

Crit One: What great visuals are in this piece already.  Also, we can already tell exactly how this character feels about the other characters. Nice job.

Crit Two: This is cool! I want to read more! I love the sarcastic humor. Great world building.

So I rewrote it again, digging deeper into my vision of the scene and trying to get the descriptions clearer. It may not be where it needs to be, but it’s a start, and I can apply the same process to other scenes of “TRU Stories.”

CHAPTER 1 – TRU (Time Research Un, Ltd) – September, 2125 CE

KEITH EMMONS [Time Anthropologist] Expedition Co-Lead

As I jogged into the underground Jump room for our expedition to the 14th Century, co-lead of our team, Dr. Anne Coffey, who I’d loved—unrequited—for nearly half of my thirty-two years, engaged her time-suit and vanished from the transport platform in a pop of displaced air. It wasn’t really a suit, of course, just an enveloping field that kept our atoms from exploding or something equally gory in a time we didn’t belong. Or maybe it was only some sort of quantum mumbo-jumbo.

The lustrous coils of exotic metal that spiraled across the vast expanse of the gray, cast-concrete space hummed in a minor key as the time-shifting energy ramped up for my turn to relocate to the American Southwest.

The Director of TRU, Elizabeth Ford, glowered from the observation balcony, smoke from her cigar spiraling to the high ceiling’s darkness. A tech behind the consoles on the mezzanine waved at me to step up on the elevated transport platform. On the smudged concrete wall behind him, large letters in some boring type spelled out TIME CONTROL. With the dim lighting and other lackluster signage — RESTROOMS! — the dark, cavernous space felt like some kind of spooky retail bargain basement.

I have more editing to do, then it will be time to put it in the hands of critical readers again.