Novel Editing, Plotting Help, Writers Resources
Brenda Hill
What Does an Editor Do?
LINE EDITING:
Line editing is time-consuming as I go over each word to make sure it's used properly. The common misused words are:
Simple
words, but when a manuscript is riddled with misspelled and/or misused
words, it signals to an agent that the writer hasn't done their
homework. Or worse, that the writer is sloppy. The next
logical conclusion is, if the writer is sloppy in grammar, the writer
is also sloppy in the storytelling. More often than not, the
manuscript is tossed.
Don't let that happen to you.
EXAMPLE OF LINE/COPY EDITING
A Rough Draft:
Sandra glanced out the window in her third-story office, wishing she were home with her daughter on this dreary, rainy day. But she had to get the report completed, had promised Rich she'd had the intricate twenty-pages filled with columns of figures ready on his desk by eight in the morning.
Below, downtown Los Angeles spread in every direction, and even in the rain, hordes of people scurried about, rushing to their cars, bus stop, or to the Metro Link for their ride home after another work-day in the City of Angels.
Angels. Sandra thought of her daughter, Joy. Blonde hair and blue-eyed, she truly looked like the blessing she was, born after years of trying for a baby and finally giving up. Her husband, raised in a Italian family of six siblings, never understood why she so desperately wanted a baby. But Sandra was an only child, lost in her parent's scramble in the academic world. She longed for someone just for her, to love and to love her in return.
They were going to celebrate her fifth birthday this weekend, and as it got closer and closer, Joy kept up a steady chatter of questions about the big surprise her mother had promised. A three-day trip to Disneyland wasn't in Sandra's budget, but they had been through so much with the divorce and change in babysitters. And Joy missed her father so much, even though he hadn't been affectionate with her.
Suddenly, a man across the street caught her attention. She couldn't say why; she couldn't even see his face under the black umbrella. He wore a long gray raincoat. Curious now, Sandra kept watching. He seemed to be pacing the man about five feet in front of him. The man in back took a gun from his briefcase, held it at his side, then rushed up to the man in front, raised the gun and fired. The man dropped. The man with the gun fired two more shots. Some people stopped and stared, others hurried away. The people who stopped didn't look at the gunman; they stared at the fallen man. One woman rushed to him and kneeled by his side. The man with the gun dropped the weapon into his briefcase, then, as if suddenly aware of someone watching him, glanced up at the window. He stopped. Their gazes locked. Sandra stumbled back from the window, still able to see him. He was still looking at her window. She felt behind her for her desk lamp and switched it off. Too late. He was crossing the street toward her building.
After Line/Copy Editing:
Sandra glanced out her third-story office window, wishing she were heading home on this dreary, rainy day. But she had to get the report completed, had promised Rich she'd have the intricate sales report ready on his desk by eight in the morning.
Below, downtown Los Angeles spread in every direction, and people scurried about, rushing to their cars, bus stop, or to the Metro Link for their trip home after another workday in the City of Angels.
Angels. Sandra thought of her daughter, Joy. Blonde hair and blue-eyed, she was a blessing, born after years of trying for a baby and finally giving up. They were going to celebrate her fifth birthday this weekend, and Joy kept up a steady chatter of questions about the big surprise her mother had promised. A day at Disneyland wasn't in Sandra's budget, but they had been through so much with the divorce and change in babysitters that Sandra decided to treat her daughter to a special day. Joy missed her father, even though he hadn't been affectionate with her, and didn't understand why he was no longer there.
Suddenly, a man across the street caught her attention. She couldn't say why; she couldn't even see his face under the black umbrella. He wore a long gray raincoat and carried a briefcase.
Curious now, Sandra kept watching. He seemed to be pacing the man about five feet in front of him. The man in back took a gun from his briefcase, then, holding it at his side, moved closer to the man in front. He aimed at the man's back and fired. The wounded man dropped. The gunman fired two more shots. Some people stopped and stared; others hurried away. No one looked at the gunman; they all stared at the fallen man. One woman rushed to him and kneeled by his side. The man with the gun dropped the weapon into his briefcase, then, as if suddenly aware of someone watching him, glanced up at the window. He stopped. Their gazes locked. Sandra stumbled back from the window, still able to see him. He was still looking at her window. She felt behind her for her desk lamp and switch it off. Too late. He was crossing the street toward her building.
EDITING FOR CONTENT:
The Most Difficult. It requires reading the manuscript for plot development and progression as well as character development.
The following are a few things I look for:
First paragraphs--Do they hook the reader into wanting to read more? How about the first chapter? Has it done its job?
Character introduction--does the reader get to know your hero/heroine and want to root for them, or are they cardboard, leaving your reader unconcerned about their fate? Do your characters come on stage in the right place?
How about setting? Are your descriptions setting the scene, or do they go on and on until the reader's eyes glaze? Do you use the rule of three?
Overall structure. Is the novel progressing? Are there plot points? If so, are they used in the right places?
How about scene and sequel? Dialogue?
Pacing: Every writer is guilty of an occasional passive sentence. Sometimes, it's the best way to present that particular thought. But if you use too many of them, your novel will drag and your slow pacing will destroy reader interest. Soon they're thinking of the dishes that need to be washed. Or the laundry. Or anything other than your book.
Too fast is just as deadly. Does your story whiz by so rapidly the reader doesn't have time to breathe? Highs and lows are the answer.
'Front-loading' sentences are another drag on pacing. As with passive sentences, an occasional one is fine. It's when they are the majority that your novel crawls or sounds cumbersome.
Do you stay in the correct viewpoint? Do you know when to change? 'Head-hopping' shows an amateur at work.
Are you guilty of overusing metaphors/similies? Clichés? Do you let adjectives and/or adverbs convey your descriptions rather than using the craft of writing?
Do you have 'cliff-hangers'?
If you're not aware of the items mentioned above, don't worry; I'll help you with suggestions.
Example of Rough Draft After Line AND Content Editing:
Sandra stood at her third-story office window and watched the rain splatter the downtown Los Angeles streets. Below, men and women scurried for their cars, bus stops, or to the Metro Link for their ride home at the end of another workday. Sandra wished she were among them, but she had promised her boss she'd have the intricate sales report completed and on his desk by eight in the morning.
Just as she was turning from the window, something, a certain movement caught her attention and she looked back. A man with a black umbrella and gray raincoat walked on the opposite side of the street, keeping a steady pace behind another man. Each carried a briefcase. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Sandra idly watched and planned the report ahead of her.
The overtime would come in handy, as she had promised her daughter, Joy, a special birthday treat next weekend, and the five-year-old kept up a steady chatter of questions about the big surprise. A trip to Disneyland wasn't in Sandra's budget, but they had been through so much with the divorce and change in babysitters. And, she hoped to soothe her daughter's disappointment over her father's lack of interest toward her.
The man with the umbrella closed the distance to the man in front, weaving in and out of the foot traffic in such perfect coordination it looked like a dance.
What were they doing?
Just as the duo was directly across from her window, the man with the umbrella reached into his briefcase and took something out. Something small and dark.
Sandra frowned. It looked like a gun. No, it couldn't be, not on a public street with people all around.
The gunman aimed at the other man's back, right below the left shoulder.
Sandra pounded on the window, trying to get someone's attention.
The gunman fired.
Sandra screamed, but no one could hear through the thick plate glass. Frozen, she stared at the scene in front of her.
The wounded man dropped. The gunman quickly fired two more shots. A pedestrian stopped and stared; two others hurried away. No one paid attention to the gunman. One woman rushed to the fallen man and kneeled by his side.
Still walking, the gunman dropped the weapon into his briefcase; then, as if suddenly aware of someone watching him, he glanced at Sandra's window.
She gasped. Their gazes locked and she forgot to breathe.
Still watching him, her heart pounding in her head, she stumbled back from the window. She bumped her desk and fumbled behind her for the lamp.
He stared at her window.
She had to turn off the light, had to disappear.
Too late. He was crossing the street toward her building.
Line editing is time-consuming as I go over each word to make sure it's used properly. The common misused words are:
to, too, two they're, their, there
affect, effect
course, coarse accept, except bare, bear
weather, whether hair, hare here, hear
here, hear war, wore week, weak
our, are
meet, meat advise, advice
Don't let that happen to you.
EXAMPLE OF LINE/COPY EDITING
A Rough Draft:
Sandra glanced out the window in her third-story office, wishing she were home with her daughter on this dreary, rainy day. But she had to get the report completed, had promised Rich she'd had the intricate twenty-pages filled with columns of figures ready on his desk by eight in the morning.
Below, downtown Los Angeles spread in every direction, and even in the rain, hordes of people scurried about, rushing to their cars, bus stop, or to the Metro Link for their ride home after another work-day in the City of Angels.
Angels. Sandra thought of her daughter, Joy. Blonde hair and blue-eyed, she truly looked like the blessing she was, born after years of trying for a baby and finally giving up. Her husband, raised in a Italian family of six siblings, never understood why she so desperately wanted a baby. But Sandra was an only child, lost in her parent's scramble in the academic world. She longed for someone just for her, to love and to love her in return.
They were going to celebrate her fifth birthday this weekend, and as it got closer and closer, Joy kept up a steady chatter of questions about the big surprise her mother had promised. A three-day trip to Disneyland wasn't in Sandra's budget, but they had been through so much with the divorce and change in babysitters. And Joy missed her father so much, even though he hadn't been affectionate with her.
Suddenly, a man across the street caught her attention. She couldn't say why; she couldn't even see his face under the black umbrella. He wore a long gray raincoat. Curious now, Sandra kept watching. He seemed to be pacing the man about five feet in front of him. The man in back took a gun from his briefcase, held it at his side, then rushed up to the man in front, raised the gun and fired. The man dropped. The man with the gun fired two more shots. Some people stopped and stared, others hurried away. The people who stopped didn't look at the gunman; they stared at the fallen man. One woman rushed to him and kneeled by his side. The man with the gun dropped the weapon into his briefcase, then, as if suddenly aware of someone watching him, glanced up at the window. He stopped. Their gazes locked. Sandra stumbled back from the window, still able to see him. He was still looking at her window. She felt behind her for her desk lamp and switched it off. Too late. He was crossing the street toward her building.
After Line/Copy Editing:
Sandra glanced out her third-story office window, wishing she were heading home on this dreary, rainy day. But she had to get the report completed, had promised Rich she'd have the intricate sales report ready on his desk by eight in the morning.
Below, downtown Los Angeles spread in every direction, and people scurried about, rushing to their cars, bus stop, or to the Metro Link for their trip home after another workday in the City of Angels.
Angels. Sandra thought of her daughter, Joy. Blonde hair and blue-eyed, she was a blessing, born after years of trying for a baby and finally giving up. They were going to celebrate her fifth birthday this weekend, and Joy kept up a steady chatter of questions about the big surprise her mother had promised. A day at Disneyland wasn't in Sandra's budget, but they had been through so much with the divorce and change in babysitters that Sandra decided to treat her daughter to a special day. Joy missed her father, even though he hadn't been affectionate with her, and didn't understand why he was no longer there.
Suddenly, a man across the street caught her attention. She couldn't say why; she couldn't even see his face under the black umbrella. He wore a long gray raincoat and carried a briefcase.
Curious now, Sandra kept watching. He seemed to be pacing the man about five feet in front of him. The man in back took a gun from his briefcase, then, holding it at his side, moved closer to the man in front. He aimed at the man's back and fired. The wounded man dropped. The gunman fired two more shots. Some people stopped and stared; others hurried away. No one looked at the gunman; they all stared at the fallen man. One woman rushed to him and kneeled by his side. The man with the gun dropped the weapon into his briefcase, then, as if suddenly aware of someone watching him, glanced up at the window. He stopped. Their gazes locked. Sandra stumbled back from the window, still able to see him. He was still looking at her window. She felt behind her for her desk lamp and switch it off. Too late. He was crossing the street toward her building.
EDITING FOR CONTENT:
The Most Difficult. It requires reading the manuscript for plot development and progression as well as character development.
The following are a few things I look for:
First paragraphs--Do they hook the reader into wanting to read more? How about the first chapter? Has it done its job?
Character introduction--does the reader get to know your hero/heroine and want to root for them, or are they cardboard, leaving your reader unconcerned about their fate? Do your characters come on stage in the right place?
How about setting? Are your descriptions setting the scene, or do they go on and on until the reader's eyes glaze? Do you use the rule of three?
Overall structure. Is the novel progressing? Are there plot points? If so, are they used in the right places?
How about scene and sequel? Dialogue?
Pacing: Every writer is guilty of an occasional passive sentence. Sometimes, it's the best way to present that particular thought. But if you use too many of them, your novel will drag and your slow pacing will destroy reader interest. Soon they're thinking of the dishes that need to be washed. Or the laundry. Or anything other than your book.
Too fast is just as deadly. Does your story whiz by so rapidly the reader doesn't have time to breathe? Highs and lows are the answer.
'Front-loading' sentences are another drag on pacing. As with passive sentences, an occasional one is fine. It's when they are the majority that your novel crawls or sounds cumbersome.
Do you stay in the correct viewpoint? Do you know when to change? 'Head-hopping' shows an amateur at work.
Are you guilty of overusing metaphors/similies? Clichés? Do you let adjectives and/or adverbs convey your descriptions rather than using the craft of writing?
Do you have 'cliff-hangers'?
If you're not aware of the items mentioned above, don't worry; I'll help you with suggestions.
Example of Rough Draft After Line AND Content Editing:
Sandra stood at her third-story office window and watched the rain splatter the downtown Los Angeles streets. Below, men and women scurried for their cars, bus stops, or to the Metro Link for their ride home at the end of another workday. Sandra wished she were among them, but she had promised her boss she'd have the intricate sales report completed and on his desk by eight in the morning.
Just as she was turning from the window, something, a certain movement caught her attention and she looked back. A man with a black umbrella and gray raincoat walked on the opposite side of the street, keeping a steady pace behind another man. Each carried a briefcase. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Sandra idly watched and planned the report ahead of her.
The overtime would come in handy, as she had promised her daughter, Joy, a special birthday treat next weekend, and the five-year-old kept up a steady chatter of questions about the big surprise. A trip to Disneyland wasn't in Sandra's budget, but they had been through so much with the divorce and change in babysitters. And, she hoped to soothe her daughter's disappointment over her father's lack of interest toward her.
The man with the umbrella closed the distance to the man in front, weaving in and out of the foot traffic in such perfect coordination it looked like a dance.
What were they doing?
Just as the duo was directly across from her window, the man with the umbrella reached into his briefcase and took something out. Something small and dark.
Sandra frowned. It looked like a gun. No, it couldn't be, not on a public street with people all around.
The gunman aimed at the other man's back, right below the left shoulder.
Sandra pounded on the window, trying to get someone's attention.
The gunman fired.
Sandra screamed, but no one could hear through the thick plate glass. Frozen, she stared at the scene in front of her.
The wounded man dropped. The gunman quickly fired two more shots. A pedestrian stopped and stared; two others hurried away. No one paid attention to the gunman. One woman rushed to the fallen man and kneeled by his side.
Still walking, the gunman dropped the weapon into his briefcase; then, as if suddenly aware of someone watching him, he glanced at Sandra's window.
She gasped. Their gazes locked and she forgot to breathe.
Still watching him, her heart pounding in her head, she stumbled back from the window. She bumped her desk and fumbled behind her for the lamp.
He stared at her window.
She had to turn off the light, had to disappear.
Too late. He was crossing the street toward her building.
