Yesterday I wrote of “the passion in the prose” –
writing a manuscript. After the passion though is the long haul of self-editing
and revision. A work is never completely ended. All work can be fine-tuned, but
usually a publisher’s deadline puts a finite end to the work, even though the
author really does want to have another edit. But once it’s done, it’s done!
I am reminded of Hemingway, as I sit underneath a
black-and-white photograph of him, taken in the 1920s in Paris. He rewrote “A
Farewell to Arms” 39 times. He said he was “getting the words right.” Like
Hemingway, it takes me a long time to get the words right. Then an editor
changes a word or phrase in the publishing process and I want to rewrite the
whole paragraph, or change the editor’s work. It is always a work in process.
There is some pleasure in the revision process
though. Working through each paragraph, changing it, deleting it, rewriting it,
transferring it to another section of the novel, conducting more research to
check the facts, and so on.
Personally I edit on the computer screen, up to a
point. After several edits I like to print chapters, or the entire work, so
that I can see it in hard copy. It makes it easier to highlight, circle, write
over the existing text, and add notes to send it to another section. It makes
it easier to have chapter X and chapter Y side-by-side to check the threads of
a theme. It makes it easier to crumple a piece of paper and throw it away. I
edit just to be sure that the protagonist’s uncle has the same description, or a
description adds to his personality, or is consistent with previous writing.
And working on hard copy is less tiring on the eyes – a break from the screen
can be quite a relief, and enables a review in another perspective.
There is also pleasure in the discipline in, as
Hemingway said, getting it right. Was it what I really wanted to say? Is it
clear to the reader? Have I added too many adjectives? Does the paragraph flow
from the previous one? There is much to consider with each edit: the spelling,
the grammar, the consistency, the facts, the threads, the themes, the plot, and
so on.
And often there is much pain. Probably more
frustration than actual pain, for it is not the torment but the continual
search for a “true” sentence – true in the Hemingway sense: “A writer’s problem
does not change. It is always how to write truly and having found out what is
true to project it in such a way that it becomes part of the experience of the
person who reads it.” That’s not to say that Hemingway was always brilliant; he
had both praise and criticism, as every author receives. And for every author,
the edit is for the publisher, the critic, the reader, and the author – it’s
just the percentages that alter.
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