We read the last page of a book, feeling something, knowing something we hadn’t felt or known 350 pages earlier. We’ve raced through unfamiliar cities and countries, chasing or being chased by spies or killers or angry spouses. Chased by our fears.

Chased by our dreams.

We’ve wept at the chime of bells from a medieval cathedral, fingered the brittle bones of a mummy, perspired under the night air of the tropics.

We know the heat of Tahitian sand under our toes, the grit of blowing Saharan sand in our eyes, the dry clawing of Tombstone dirt in our throats.

We’ve fallen in love. We’ve fallen out of love. We’ve declared ourselves free from love.

We’ve been betrayed by someone dear to us.

We’ve betrayed someone dear to us.

We do in two or three hours—between the covers of a book—what we never imagined doing when rolling out of bed in the morning, when brushing our teeth or feeding the dog.

We plan a heist to steal a fabulous gem. We plan revenge. We plan a murder.

We live without encumbrance, without the strictures of society. We live fervently, sometimes with joy, often times with fear.

We live wildly. Boldly. Never safely. We dream big and succeed big.

We fail with the whole world watching.

We are shamed.

We sometimes die.

And it’s all in story, words on a page. Letters strung together to create complex realities out of barren nothing.

Out of nothing.

Story takes us where we can’t safely go in our daily lives, perhaps satisfying our yearning, perhaps stoking it until we can’t resist making our real world mimic the fictional ones in which we play.

But wherever we go and whatever we do, whatever we escape from and escape into, story is a power that grabs us. Whether it’s a need in our brains or a desire of the soul, story is necessary, vital, for us to thrive. It’s necessary for our very survival.

Imagination—in the mind, on the screen, between the pages of a book—satisfies our need to explore, to wonder what if. To step beyond what is and into what could be.

__________________________________

How amazing that words—imagined people and imagined events and imagined places—can make us cry. Can inspire us. Can reduce us to whimpering children hiding under the covers, fearful of the unknown.

Story entrances, pulling us away from duty and boredom and the common, introducing us to those who embrace duty to the point of death, those whose lives have never known boredom, those who transcend the common on their way to immortality.

Story gives us hope.

It takes us outside self, far beyond our limited worldview and experiences.

It reaches deep, revealing the strengths within our own spirits.

Story draws us in. Story draws us deep. And story ultimately lets us go.

But story, in all its power, keeps drawing us back.

***

And I’m thinking that we—we editors and writers and friends—put a whole lot of pressure on writers to get it right.

All of it.

We instruct on grammar and choosing the right words and planning character arcs and writing kick-ass dialogue. We point out what doesn’t work and what will work and what writers should do to craft a great novel.

We direct and challenge and encourage and cajole. We give examples of the good and the bad, what works and what doesn’t. We even try to point out why one option works and another doesn’t and why a third option is better still.

It seems we’re never satisfied, always pushing and prodding and asking for the writer to do more, learn more. And while there’s nothing wrong with that and everything right with it, there’s another piece of advice we may forget to offer. And it’s counsel writers need to hear, especially if they’re taking classes or going to workshops or submitting manuscripts and suffering through rejection after rejection.

If all writers hear is advice on how to be better, how to improve, then what they’re also hearing is that the work isn’t good enough. That it’s not there yet. And if the work isn’t ready, if it needs improvement, then the writer himself needs improvement and isn’t good enough.

Isn’t that what you hear when you immerse yourself in craft issues, at least sometimes?

There’s always something to learn, always some way to approach your project differently or write differently. Maybe you’re being encouraged to learn a new skill or strengthen a weak one.

Whatever the words and however the advice comes, those words and that advice are always about improving, either improving the story or improving as a writer.

I wholeheartedly agree with improving craft skills; many of my blog articles speak specifically to that. But I never want to be guilty of appealing only to the writer’s mind and to analysis and to form.

I want to remind writers to not only learn craft and polish skills and to plot and plan their stories.

I want to remind them to bring passion to those stories. I want to encourage them to write with abandon and pleasure and giddiness. To write without restraint.

To write with fire.

_________________________

Maybe it’s just me, just where I’ve spent this week, deep in the workings of grammar and rules and craft. Maybe I haven’t read enough fiction, haven’t let the life of a story move me.

Maybe you never feel buffeted by the rules and the competing advice and the unrelenting push to improve. But I felt buffeted on your behalf this week. I felt a pang for writers, especially those very new to the journey of writing a novel, a pang at all the advice offered them—thrown at them—as if all there is to writing is rules and more rules and even more rules. As if story is all in the technique and that only the mechanics matter. As if once the mechanics are mastered, every story will be perfect.

Craft and mechanics are vital, of course they are. But so is the passion a writer brings to his tale. If not passion for the plot, then for the characters. And if not for the plot and characters, then for the challenge of writing a story that will move readers, shake them up.

Maybe your passion is not to tell a story but to tell the story, the one burning in your soul, the story that’s been churning inside you for years, the story that once burned hot but was doused with the cold shower of rules and mechanics and form once you tried getting that story out of your heart and onto paper.

If your ardor for writing has cooled, may I remind you that it won’t stay cool or dormant? If you’re a storyteller, you need to tell your stories. And once you see what the knowledge of craft and the polishing of skills can do for those stories—once you see what you can do when you combine skill with passion—you’ll be eager to write more and to write better. You’ll be renewed to the power of the written word. You’ll once again be eager to learn more.

Just a reminder, then, to not be overwhelmed or disheartened or discouraged by all the rules and the advice. Much of the advice is good, will only make you a stronger craftsman. But at the same time, remember that it’s the fire in your books that your readers come to experience, come to partake of. They expect you’ll have the craft down solid, yes. But they want to soar with your characters and get lost in your worlds and race through your adventures.

They want to cry and rage and laugh. They want the wildness of the forbidden encased in the safe confines of a fictional world.

They want a fearsome, passionate quest that snares their minds and hearts without threatening their lives.

They want a story that’s not theirs to become story that’s wholly theirs, a part of their memories, an agitator of their emotions.

Give readers, then, what they want, what they deserve from fiction.

Don’t substitute craft for the life of your story—let craft bring your story to life.

Write with fire and abandon.

And when you’re learning and improving and searching for techniques to improve, protect that fire, that heat that drives you and your stories. Don’t let the flame go out.

Yes, let your head analyze. It’s very good at that.

But let your heart burn. It’s so very perfect for doing just that.

***

I’ve been swamped and then re-swamped with unusual tasks and duties the past few weeks. I can only say that I fully empathize with those who, while under deadline, get 20 other tasks dropped into their laps.

So, the article for today focuses on time.

We could all use a bit more of it. But since we won’t get that, maybe we can use the minutes and hours more efficiently.

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When you’re writing, you’ll use a system that works for you. It might not be efficient, but if it keeps you writing and producing, then it’s the approach you need to take. But you need to know what that system does to you in terms of taking up your time.

Can you write ten hours a day and do research  for another two, write five blog articles, attend a critique group and a writing group and still get to the kids’ ball games and have dinner with the spouse and work in the garden and take that class on astronomy and enjoy eight hours of sleep every night?

Not likely.

And when something unexpected crops up or drops in or pushes to the surface, you may have to change your plans. Maybe just one. Or maybe all of them.

Time is finite. And while it can be used for different purposes, once it’s used, it’s gone.

Writing takes up a lot of our time each day. We’re either actively writing or thinking about a plot thread or checking into the Regency period—or some cool gadget we hope was around in our time period—or we’re brushing up on grammar or polishing our dialogue.

We may be talking to agents or editors or critique partners or the writing group at the local library.

We may be sending queries or pounding out a synopsis or figuring out who to approach with our newest manuscript.

The craft and the business of writing take time. And there’s much more to producing a good novel than just throwing some words together.

If you’ve finished one, you know exactly what I mean.

Instead of wrestling with time, can we put it to work for us in a way that allows us to control time rather than allowing time to control us?

I think we can.

Suggestions for managing our writing time—

Be flexible. And be ready to be flexible ahead of time. Preparation will save on stress.

Know what can be dropped and what has to be taken care of immediately.

Get help when it makes sense to do so. That is, if you don’t have time to change your oil because you’re supposed to be writing, then have it done by someone else. Now, if you get great ideas and you tend to work through plot problems when your hands are busy, have at it. Just realize no one expects you to do all of everything.

Schedule breaks while you’re writing. Whether this means daily or hourly or weekly or between projects, that’s up to you. But recognize that you are more than your writing. You have other purposes and you have a life. Enjoy that life while you write.

If you don’t have a breakthrough with a problem plot or reluctant character and you’ve been working at that problem a long time, turn to something else. Write a different scene, ask a colleague for advice, step out and get an ice cream. Unproductive time, if it remains unproductive, creates nothing but frustration and most likely bad writing.

Prepare for emergencies and setbacks and interruptions. No, we don’t want to waste time by building in too many allowances. But don’t pack your writing days so much that a little interruption causes chaos.

Give yourself enough time to do a thorough job, whether this means time for the first draft, time for editing, time for marketing and publicity or time for research. Think ahead.

Let your agent or editor know if you can’t meet a deadline. They need to plan too.

Take a real break when you can. You are not a machine, but you do need recharging. Know the activities or places that get your mind and emotions running in the right direction and immerse yourself in one or more of those activities or places.

Invest some of your day with those you love and those who love you.

Seemingly simple advice that we’ve all heard, probably have all shared. But reminders are good. As is the suggestion to step out of the chaos of life for a few moments and enjoy a moment of peace.

Or maybe you need to step out of the constrictions of your writing schedule and step into the chaos of the rest of your life and draw energy from the things and people that keep you jazzed.

Whichever it is, take the time to do something different and fresh while you’re writing. You are more than a writer. You deserve more in your days than deadlines and words.

***

You might be.

If you only want to write the one story, if you think that’s all you have in you, if you think it’s so good that you don’t have to write another, then write that one story.

But realize that there’s more to being a writer than penning one novel.

A completed manuscript is wonderful, a milestone to be celebrated, as I’ve said before. Yet if you stop with only one, keep in mind that

You probably haven’t written your best novel.

You’re probably less willing to make changes than writers who’ve written a number of manuscripts.

You’re probably not pushing to improve your craft.

I know, I don’t live in your head, your heart, or your home. If you only intended to write the one manuscript, for whatever reason, or outside factors prevent you from writing others, I’m not saying that you haven’t accomplished something outstanding.

I am saying that people who call themselves writers need to produce more than one sample of their work.

If you haven’t released that one manuscript after years of tinkering with it and haven’t moved on to another, you’re probably still too attached to that first one. Unhealthily attached.

It’s likely that you think about it, talk about it, tweak it repeatedly, and feel that it’s without blemish.

It’s likely that you treat your manuscript as a delicate possession, one unable to stand up to harsh or even gentle criticism.

We all know parents who worry much more about the first child than their fifth, who protect the first child from imagined dangers and allow the last one freedoms that the first never experienced.

It’s natural. Once parents learn what children can handle, they allow them to handle those situations. And when parents see what a first child can manage, they’re less likely to impose the same limitations on subsequent children.

Writers need to do the same. Expose your manuscripts to others for critique and review. Allow your agent or editor* to make suggestions without assuming she doesn’t understand your story or your purpose or your theme. Write a second and a third novel and let them all loose. Give them freedom. They can handle it.

And you can as well.

Don’t be hesitant about standing up for your novel, of course. But don’t be hesitant about trying something suggested by someone else either.

If you’re a writer who continues to write, who doesn’t assume that you can’t possibly write anything better than your first novel, and you’re more concerned with getting the story right than you are about holding firm to your notions of what is sacrosanct about your story, then I commend you. You are a writer.

Writers want the best for their stories. They don’t hold on to words and characters and dialogue and plot lines that don’t work for a story. They don’t hold on to writing that stinks.

I did say stinks, didn’t I?

Face it, sometimes our work does stink. And it does need changing. Or excising. Or it needs trashing so we can write it off to a bad mood or life-changing events in our personal lives and get on with writing something decent.

While I encourage anyone to pick up a pen and write a novel, I also want to encourage those who aspire to be writers—who are writers—to do what writers do. And that’s not to proclaim how world-changing a manuscript is. Or how perfect it is. Or how good it is simply because it has a beginning and an end and it’s finished.

If you’re unwilling to honestly examine your manuscript for flaws, you’re not ready to be a writer.

If you’re not willing to assume or accept that a manuscript needs corrections and improvement, you’re not ready to be a writer.

If you only want to be known as a writer but don’t want to do what writers do, you’re not ready.

Writers create a draft. And then they rewrite and rewrite again. They make changes. They cut. They add.

They change words.

They change names and plot events and character motivation.

They stand up for their writing while at the same time welcoming advice.

They know there’s more than one way to say something, present something, advance the plot, reveal a character.

Be a one-manuscript diva if you want to. Recognize, however, what you give up when you refuse to change your story for the better simply because you think your story is perfect and above improvement.

You give up the achievements of the writer who grows in skills and insight simply by wrestling a single line or plot thread to perfection.

You give up the knowledge gained in rewrites.

You lose sight of the fact that there are options and that a different path might just give you a far better story.

___________________________

Writers who’ve completed only one manuscript share a common trait—they are often defensive when someone makes suggestions for improving the story, even if they’ve asked for suggestions. It’s as if beginning writers want to be validated, be assured that their writing is good and worthy. That it’s without flaw.

Your writing is of value, and completing a novel manuscript is a great accomplishment; don’t let anyone take away the thrill and power of that accomplishment. But a complete manuscript and a good manuscript are not synonymous. Please don’t confuse achievement with quality. Both are necessary for a successful novel. But one is not accomplished simply by accomplishing the other.

Writers with more than one manuscript behind them, especially writers who’ve been published, are almost always more willing to make the changes necessary to improve their work. Their egos have been dropped somewhere, perhaps flung aside, after that first story is completed, and instead of being defensive, these writers are eager to find out what works for their stories. They truly want to make a story better, and they don’t care where the knowledge to do that comes from.

If they need someone else to point out problems in their manuscripts, they’re willing to listen.

It’s not my intention to jump on the attitudes of writers here, but there’s no reason for this blog to deal only with issues for new writers and writing basics.

Attitude can carry you far.

But a bad or defensive or all-knowing attitude can stop your career. Or at least slow it tremendously.

If you approach agents and publishers and even other writers with an attitude that says your work doesn’t need changing, you’re going to have problems getting that work read and published.

I certainly don’t want the diva attitude to keep you far from writing success.

You could, of course, hold tight to your attitude and self-publish. But there’s still money and reputation involved in traditional publishing. Why allow your attitude keep you out of even one avenue to publishing?

___________________________

So, what can you do to keep from being a one-manuscript diva?

Write another story.

Understand that every writer rewrites and that your own value and worth are not being attacked when someone suggests changes to your manuscript.

Find a balance between confidence and humility that fits you and take that attitude into your negotiations with agents and publishers and critique partners.

Remember that you are so close to your writing projects that you might not see a problem or might not see how to correct it.

Realize that asking for and accepting help is not cheating; it’s okay to seek advice.

Understand that a publisher will quite likely know the market better than you do and that to fit into that market, you might have to make adjustments to your novel.

Set aside defensiveness. When you ask for suggestions or a critique, at least consider those suggestions.

Consider that there might be a better way to present a line, a character, an emotion, the plot.

Critique someone else’s work, putting yourself in their place. Offer a critique that will improve the manuscript without attacking the writer.

Keep learning.

*******

Writers have to be confident, so don’t think I’m asking you to back down from your convictions regarding your work; stick to your choices when it’s important.

But don’t adopt a diva attitude, one that will push agents and editors away. They want to work with writers they can actually work with. Show yourself a pro by your willingness to improve your manuscripts. Let others know that you know there’s more than one way to present a story.

Think of yourself as a working stiff rather than a diva. Writing, after all, is work. It can be great pleasure, yes. But the plots and characters don’t write themselves.

Writers are tough. They don’t need coddling and humoring. Why give the impression that you can’t handle the writer’s life when you can? Acknowledging the weaknesses in a manuscript and addressing those weaknesses doesn’t make you weak or wrong or a poor writer; it does make the writing stronger.

Write strong today.

Seek and accept criticism.

Look for ways to improve your stories.

***

*The references to editors in this article are to those at publishing houses and not to freelance editors.

***

***Winning Entry—Warrior Wench by Marie Andreas***

Congratulations, Marie!

And thanks to all for entering.

________________________________

This is it, your opportunity to win a free 30-page edit of your unpublished fiction manuscript.

Ever wanted to see what an editor would do with the first 30 pages of your novel, those 30 pages agents and publishers want to look at before they request a full manuscript? Now’s your chance.

The Editor’s Blog is giving away one free 30-page fiction edit.

The prize is an edit of the first 30 consecutive pages of a novel or novella.

Enter the drawing by adding a comment to this article, as explained below. That’s all there is to it.

Dates
Entries will be accepted from the moment this article is made public until Sunday, July 3, 2011 at 10 pm EDT. The winner will be announced, in this article, on Monday, July 4, 2011.

Read on for the rules and limitations and requirements—

In celebration of the milestone of the 100th blog article on writing and editing at The Editor’s Blog, I’m offering a free edit of the first 30 pages of one unpublished fiction manuscript via a drawing.

How does the drawing work? Each comment on this article, which is the entry form, will serve as an entry for the drawing, and each entry will be numbered in order from one to whatever. The winning entry will be chosen by a random drawing of a number out of all possible choices at random.org. Simple and easy. The winner will be contacted via e-mail and his or her name and manuscript title will be posted on the article.

So . . . if you’d like a chance to win a free edit of the first 30 pages of your fiction manuscript, just enter.

Tell your friends and writing buddies.

__________________________________

How to enter the drawing for your chance to win—

1. Comment on this article (Win a 30-page Edit—Article #100. In your comment, include your manuscript’s working title, your name or pseudonym, and genre. Be sure that the e-mail address associated with your comment is a valid one, since that’s how I’ll contact the winner. (You do not need to make your e-mail address public.)
2. Enter a manuscript only one time, but enter as many different manuscripts, as separate comments, as you like.
3. Enter by Sunday, July 3, 2011 at 10pm EDT.

What you win—

1. A first-thirty edit, an edit of the first 30 pages of your fiction manuscript. (See A Novel Edit for details about the first-thirty edit.)

What you guarantee—

1. The manuscript identified in your entry has been written by you.
2. The manuscript is unpublished.
3. The first thirty pages are written and complete at the time you enter the contest.
4. Your entry is written in English.

Limitations and format—

1. The 30-page edit is specifically reserved for the first 30 consecutive pages of a fiction manuscript.
2. Manuscript pages should be formatted in accordance with typical manuscript format—double-spaced, 12-point, Times New Roman font, 1-inch margins on four sides.
3. Maximum word count for the free edit is 7500 words.
4. The contest and free 30-page edit are solely intended as a celebration of the 100-article milestone at The Editor’s Blog. No promises or guarantees are made about the marketability of your manuscript simply because the first 30 pages have been edited.
5. I reserve the right to decline to edit the winning entry and to choose an alternate winner if the winning entry is deliberately uneditable, does not meet the conditions of the contest, or is not a true candidate for editing for any reason.
6. I reserve the right to cancel the drawing if there is insufficient interest and I reserve the right to close the drawing early if an unexpected volume of responses overwhelms the blog. (I expect neither of these outcomes, but just in case . . .)

__________________________________

When you enter the drawing, you are not subscribing to The Editor’s Blog nor are you signing up for a newsletter or any other service. This is truly a giveaway, no strings attached, to thank my readers for coming to the blog.

Submit your entries now.

If you have questions or comments rather than an entry for the drawing, visit this contest preview article, where you can ask your questions in the comment section.

Good luck and good writing!

***

Glad to have y’all. Just a reminder that you don’t need to publicly post your e-mail address. When you add a comment, you include an e-mail address that I can see on the back end.

*

Congratulations to Marie Andreas who won the free 30-page edit! Thanks, everyone, for participating.

Yes, you read that right.

In celebration of the milestone of the 100th blog article on writing and editing at The Editor’s Blog, I’m offering a free edit of the first 30 pages of one unpublished fiction manuscript via a drawing.

Blog article #100 will serve as the entry form for the drawing; look for article #100 soon. Today’s article (#97) serves as an announcement only and to give everyone a heads-up and time to prepare.

 Do not use this article for your contest entry.

How will the drawing work? Each comment on the entry form will serve as an entry, and each entry will be numbered in order from one to whatever. The winning entry will be chosen by a random drawing of a number out of all possible choices at random.org. Simple and easy. The winner will be contacted via e-mail and his or her name and manuscript title will be posted on the article.

So . . . if you’d like a chance to win a free edit of the first 30 pages of your fiction manuscript, just enter.

And tell your friends and writing buddies.

__________________________________

How to enter the drawing for your chance to win—

1. Comment on article #100, Win a 30-page edit. In your comment, include the manuscript’s working title, your name or pseudonym, and genre. Be sure that the e-mail address associated with your comment is a valid one, since that’s how I’ll contact the winner. (You do not need to make your e-mail address public.)
2. Enter a manuscript only one time, but enter as many different manuscripts, as separate comments, as you like.
3. Enter during the time period specified in article #100.

What you win—

1. A first-thirty edit, an edit of the first 30 pages of your fiction manuscript. (See A Novel Edit for details about the first-thirty edit.)

What you guarantee—

1. The manuscript identified in your entry has been written by you.
2. The manuscript is unpublished.
3. The first thirty pages are written and complete at the time you enter the contest.
4. Your entry is written in English.

Limitations and format—

1. The 30-page edit is specifically reserved for the first 30 consecutive pages of a fiction manuscript.
2. Manuscript pages should be formatted in accordance with typical manuscript format—double-spaced, 12-point, Times New Roman font, 1-inch margins on four sides.
3. Maximum word count for the free edit is 7500 words.
4. The contest and free 30-page edit are solely intended as a celebration of the 100-article milestone at The Editor’s Blog. No promises or guarantees are made about the marketability of your manuscript simply because the first 30 pages have been edited.
5. I reserve the right to decline to edit the winning entry and to choose an alternate winner if the winning entry is deliberately uneditable, does not meet the conditions of the contest, or is not a true candidate for editing for any reason.
6. I reserve the right to cancel the drawing if there is insufficient interest and I reserve the right to close the drawing early if an unexpected volume of responses overwhelms the blog. (I expect neither of these outcomes, but just in case . . .)

__________________________________

When you enter the drawing, you are not subscribing to The Editor’s Blog nor are you signing up for a newsletter or any other service. This is truly a giveaway, no strings attached, to thank my readers for coming to the blog.

Questions or comments? Ask away.

***

It was a long article.

I hope I didn’t discourage you with the length and the number of items on the checklist. But quite honestly, editing takes time. It takes attention to detail. It requires a sensibility that can see and understand and deal with both big-picture and fine-detail elements.

Consider all the books written about fiction writing. All that wonderful information, the breadth and depth of it, can’t be coalesced into one lone blog article.

The same is true for editing. The amount of information is enormous. The types of elements to consider are varied. The intricacies complex.

Every aspect of writing that a writer faces, the editor also faces. Yet, as I’ve said before, the approach may be different because writing and editing require different skills and different outcomes. But both writer and editor consider everything that goes into good story. They look at the technical aspects and at the elements of fiction. They must check on plot and character and style and tone and dialogue and . . .

You know them, those many elements that go into novels. And if you don’t know them, if you’re new to the craft and haven’t studied the elements of fiction and the techniques of writing, then you’ve got some study ahead of you. But the learning is fun. And necessary if you intend to write for more than your own pleasure, if you plan to share your work with others.

Aside—Yes, you can write a novel without knowing much about craft. If you’ve got a plot idea, run with it. I encourage anyone who wants to write a book to try it. Do it. It’s a worthy task to set for yourself.

However, please don’t imagine that a cool plot idea is enough for readers. It probably won’t be enough for you. Not when you’re trying to connect characters and fill in the events of your story to move from some opening to that cool plot event and then to climax and resolution.

A novel is more than an idea. It’s a manipulation of the written word to create characters and places and events that grab the attention of readers, that move them emotionally or mentally or spiritually.

A good plot idea is not enough to see readers through a 400-page novel. A good plot clothed in emotion-inducing words and lived by characters a reader can care about? A good plot with logical and inevitable events plus dialogue that keeps a reader riveted? An ending that satisfies the reader, one that can arise only from the plot threads spelled out in the preceding pages? These things can see the reader through.

These things make good novels and good story.

I wanted to go back to that checklist article, add a note about the complexities of editing and the time involved, but since the article was already long enough, I thought I’d give those notes their own article.

This article is more for writers who edit their own work than for the professional editor who doesn’t also write. I intend it to be encouragement for those times when you read a long checklist such as the one I posted and feel overwhelmed by the tasks yet in front of you, tasks necessary in order to truly finish a novel.

____________________________

The Time Factor
Edits take time; there’s no way around the truth of that. A 100,000-word manuscript can’t be edited in a day. It’s not gonna happen. Just a glance at that checklist shows not only the number of areas to be worked on but the diversity and complexity of those areas.

You might be able to cover spelling and punctuation in a single edit pass, but what of word choice? What about dialogue and all its particulars? How can you know you’ve given each plot thread the proper amount of time and emphasis and resolution unless you follow each through the story?

What of repetition and redundancies and rhythm? What of dangling modifiers and sentences that make no sense?

What of phrases that can be read multiple ways?

Can you be sure the hook used to end each chapter is still a valid one? Only if you check each out after you’ve made changes to the story. You might have changed a character’s motivation and then find a hook based on the original motivation. If readers find something such as this before the writer or editor, they’re going to be confused and pulled away from the fiction.

Editing takes skill and flair and plain old effort. A good edit takes time. A bad edit takes time.

If editing could be performed by a software program, time wouldn’t be a factor. But if editing could be done by a computer, so could writing.

Yet, with all the advances in computers and software, computer strengths still cannot compare to the skills and artistic qualities that writers and editors, that all artists, bring to their craft.

We already moan and groan about grammar-checking software—can you imagine what editing software would do to a story? Yikes.

There are simply too many variables involved for a computer to be able to do what you can do as you edit a manuscript. You may hear a news report about a man who committed petty theft again and again in order to set a record. This report might be the catalyst that gives you insight into your character’s own quirky motivation, a motivation that you’d written around but couldn’t quite nail. How will a computer program get that instant realization from a news story that it doesn’t know about?

It can’t. Only humans can artistically weave dozens and dozens of story threads and ideas and setting details into novels. Only humans can tighten those threads and remove the ones that don’t add to story.

But you, as a human, have time limitations.

So your edits will take time. There are no instant edits.

The Burnout Factor
The task may seem daunting, especially if you’re self-editing and you’ve already worked on a couple of drafts. You may think you’re done, that you can’t possibly face another pass through your manuscript. But you can. And you should undertake that next pass, an editing pass.

Don’t get burned out this close to the end. Please don’t.

Readers are clamoring for good stories, for books that entertain and do so with seeming ease. We need your stories. We need entertaining stories that read well.

Good editing is what gives story the polish and integrity of strong narrative, of enthralling fiction. Good editing lets the story take center stage and allows the mechanics to hide from the reader’s notice.

So polish your stories. Edit yourself or hire an editor. But don’t tire out or lose interest when you’re approaching the end of the project.

We need the stories from your heart and your pen. And we need you to push as much as you need to in that last mile or two or three to produce high-quality fiction.

Putting a novel together is no sprint. I hate to use the clichéd comparison between sprints and marathons, but it’s a valid one here. A good novel will not be written in a week. It also won’t be edited overnight.

Don’t rush your edits.

Can you write a novel in a month, as the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) folks exhort you to try (at least the first 50,000 words)? Yes, you can do that. And why not try? It’s fun. It’s encouraging. It might get you moving and writing in ways you never imagined. I’m all for using anything that keeps writers writing. (I’ve done it myself and will probably try again.)

But don’t imagine that the manuscript you have in hand on day 31 is publication-ready. It isn’t. A first draft is never a final draft. Not for decent and better-than-decent novels.

You have to rewrite and you have to edit; they’re necessary parts of the writing process. Just as a novel must have characters, it must have edits. There’s simply no way around this—it’s one of the basics of writing.

Consider . . .
The first idea you have for a scene is just that, a first idea. When you write the scene for the first time, you may be getting down only the barest hint of what that scene will ultimately contain.

It’s not likely you’ll get the nuances right, the word choices right, the proper sentence lengths for the entire scene. You may not include the sense elements or details of setting on that first pass.

You may even put that scene in one location in your sequence of  scenes when you first think of it, yet move it to another place in the story when rewriting.

Now, if you’re a plotter rather than a pantser, your first draft may be a lot closer to your final draft than a pantser’s first draft would be. Yet, that first draft—and the second and the third—is not your ultimate creation.

We know that every writer experiences those aha moments as they write. Even plotters. So when you add in whatever you got in that aha moment, that changes both what you’ve already written and what you planned to write next.

New characters or new motivations or new scenes influence everything else. So yes, you’re going to have to rework the rest of the manuscript.

You wouldn’t not do it, would you, just to save yourself from having to rewrite? You wouldn’t ignore a great idea that would transform your story (or even only one part of it) just because it didn’t fit in your original vision and would require a rewrite?

What if your editor made a suggestion that would change your so-so novel into a bestseller? What if that suggestion meant touching every scene in the manuscript? Would you ignore such a suggestion?

You wouldn’t if you’re writing to serve the story.

We want to write good stories, good and engaging fiction. So don’t be tempted to rush through your writing and editing to simply reach the end. There’s so much more to come after finishing.

I’m not writing to discourage you. I am hoping to stave off discouragement as you write.

When you realize from the start that edits and rewrites will take just as much time as the original draft and that you will have to edit and rewrite, you may not be disappointed or daunted by the work still ahead of you after you finish the first or second draft. You may not be tempted to skip through rewrites and editing passes or skimp on the necessary work.

You may instead take a break, take a deep breath, and then dive right in, ready for the next phase.

Don’t humor discouragement
The high we get from a new idea or at the start of a new project feels wonderful. It often carries us well into the project.

But when the high wears off, we can get discouraged. We can feel low. We may even think that since the ideas aren’t flowing, we’ve taken a wrong turn and should simply start over with the newest cool idea floating around in our heads, the one keeping us up at night.

Yes, you could start a new project. But don’t abandon the old when the writer’s high fades. If you do, you’ll never finish a manuscript.

Writing is work. And sometimes you’re not going to know what comes next or how to work out a plot thread. You’re not going to know if you chose the correct character to tell the story, not until you really work the story.

You have to write through those moments (sometimes days) when nothing works or fits or sounds like the story you intend to write.

To get through, you actually have to write the thing. The whole thing.

To learn how to fix problem areas, you actually have to fix them.

Abandoning one story for another when the writing gets hard will never make you a good writer. It won’t make you a competent one. It certainly won’t make you a successful one.

It will frustrate you. Because you’ll never overcome the areas that challenge you. If you quit, you can’t celebrate the victory over the writing obstacles that give you fits.

You won’t be able to know that you can overcome. Not until you do overcome.

It gets easier. With each manuscript, with study, with experience and your own discoveries and the advice of other writers and editors, you will become a better writer.

And you’ll become a better editor.

You’ll know what to look for. You’ll know your options for fixes. You’ll know how to approach fixes.

You’ll know how to start a manuscript so the types and numbers of fixes will be reduced.

*******

Another long, long article. My apologies. Yet, I hope you find a spark here to keep you writing or an encouragement to dive into a thorough edit.

Polishing your manuscript is worth your time. It’s worth some extra study of not only writing skills but editing skills. It’s worth the extra push when you think you’re at the end since you can see the finish line but still have a couple miles before you.

Don’t be daunted by the number of steps required to produce good fiction. Instead, grow in confidence as you master each step, including those of editing.

Put in the time.

Invest in yourself.

Write well and edit wisely.

***

Yes, last week was the one-year anniversary of this blog.

Thank you all for joining me in an exploration of writing and editing and the world of fiction. I’ve enjoyed every article and comment so far and plan to enjoy many more in the coming years.

I wanted to know if I’d met the goals I’d stated for the blog (I think I’d stated a few goals), so I took a look back into the early posts, from May of 2010. In my first article, on the blog’s purpose, I’d said—

My plan is to post weekly, more often if the mood strikes or I come across a topic that encourages exploration. I’m guessing you’ll find a lot of writing tips here. Maybe examples of what to do and what not to do. Probably lots of suggestions for writing better, for creating emotions in the reader, for keeping writers encouraged.

I’m fairly satisfied with the blog’s progress when viewed against those goals:  There are nearly 100 articles on craft; we’ve looked at tips for writing better; and I’ve written articles on creating emotions in the reader, on encouragement, on grammar and punctuation, and on the elements of fiction.

There are other topics to explore, of course; several readers have made requests for topics they want to see covered. So we should have plenty to look at in the weeks and months ahead. I hope you’ll stick around, share your opinions and questions.

A quick recap of the first year at The Editor’s Blog . . .

The two most read articles—

Punctuation in Dialogue

How to Format Your Novel Manuscript

The next five most read articles—

Duties of an Editor

Sex in Fiction

Creating Emotion in the Reader

Use and Misuse of Dialogue Tags

Male Writers and Female Writers—There’s a Difference

Search term used most often to reach The Editor’s Blog—

What does an editor do?

A few articles that struck a chord with readers—

Male and Female Writers—There’s a Difference

The Outline Dilemma—Plotting vs. Pantsing

Dealing with Discouragement

Early articles worth checking out—

The First Book is Seldom the Best

How to Hook Your Readers

Detail Enhances Your Fiction

I was going to include my list of articles on topics I find important for writers, but I couldn’t limit such a list to just a few. Check out the alphabetical archives for a full list of articles; I’m hoping you’ll find articles both useful and entertaining.

___________________________

Thank you for reading The Editor’s Blog, for commenting and asking questions. Thank you for tweeting and linking and mentioning the blog on your Facebook pages. I appreciate every moment you spend here.

As for the coming year, I plan to continue writing articles on craft and encouraging writers and editors.

I may also introduce a new element to the blog—First Pages on First Fridays. I’m thinking of offering an edit of the first page of at least one manuscript, perhaps a few, the first Friday of every month. This would be a public edit, so I’m not sure who will be up for that. Solely an idea under consideration at the moment. I’ll let you know for sure when I make a decision.

Also, I’m also considering something special to celebrate the 100th blog article—giving away a free edit of the first 30 pages of one fiction manuscript. If there’s enough interest in this kind of giveaway, I’ll probably do it. Watch for more details.

Again, thank you for your interest in The Editor’s Blog. I’m celebrating the past year, looking forward to the next, and lifting a glass to you, you writers and editors determined to write satisfying and entertaining fiction.

Here’s to even more good writing!

***

We’ve also heard that traditional books have no future and that fiction itself is dying.

You’ve heard those rumors, right? Told as if they’re prophecy from the great Writing Oracle.

Yet, while the delivery methods of story might, and should, change, I very much doubt that fiction is in its death throes.

Fiction, story, and entertainment have been with us from our very beginnings. Story, pretence, and make-believe will always have a place in humanity’s world; they’re a great part of who we are and a way we make sense of events and our reactions to those events.

Story helps us safely navigate and explore what can often be dangerous or alarming, what is unknown and fear-inducing.

Fiction allows us to dream and imagine. Fiction helps us with the what-ifs and how-abouts. It pushes us beyond the immediate and factual and into realms of possibility, not certainties but could-bes. Fiction both tantalizes and satisfies the yearning soul, the dreaming psyche. It challenges the explorer and comforts the timid.

I read an article or a tweet or something this week that lead me to another article, “The Death of Fiction?” by Ted Genoways, editor of the Virginia Quarterly Review. The VQR is the literary magazine of the University of Virginia, and the article I read was posted online at Mother Jones early in 2010.

The focus of the article is university quarterlies and their decline. The topic is interesting and as is often true, the readers’ comments are as fascinating as the article itself.

What struck me, more than the talk of a decline in sales and subscriptions and more than the discussion of the relevance of such magazines, was the simple fact that few are reading the stories in these quarterlies.

What Genoways was most concerned about was the future of the quarterlies and the impact on writer’s programs and student writers. I, however, wanted to know if the stories went unread because they held no appeal for readers.

Had the writers forgotten their audience?

Once greatly in vogue, at least with student writers and writing instructors, these literary magazines apparently have many fewer readers.

That’s certainly not what writers strive for, to be published but unread.

Or is it?

Do some write only to be published, uncaring what the readers think? Uncaring that there are no readers?

After reading the article, I wanted to be one to speak a reminder to writers, a reminder to write for the audience, the reader, and not solely to accrue writing credit for being published in some magazine.

Of what value is story if it remains unread, even if it is published in a literary journal?

That’s not to say that all such magazines have no readers or that all are obsolete. I’ve not done a study, so I couldn’t tell you the true state of such publications. But if the readership is down, could there be a reason that writers can fix?

If we write stories that readers enjoy, will they read more? Have writers brought about low readership and subscription levels because they’ve forgotten the reader, forgotten to write stories that entertain?

Do writers remember the living individuals who sit on the other side of story pages, people who read to escape or to take adventures or to simply go somewhere new, if only in their imaginations?

 Do writers actually care whether or not they write engaging stories?

_________________________________

My suggestion for writers is that they remember their audience and write to entertain them. Yes, to please them.

That doesn’t mean that you write the same story that another writes or in the same style as an author who sells millions of each book. It does mean that you offer an entertaining or compelling read.

Look at your work. Are you writing for yourself only or for a wider audience? Are you writing to challenge yourself, to try the unusual and untried and avant-garde simply because you want to prove you can achieve something never achieved?

There’s nothing wrong with such a goal; we should always be writing better and stronger with successive books and stories.

Yet we can’t blame readers if they don’t enjoy what we place before them.

There’s a place and time for expanding our skills and for trying the quirky. But that place may no longer be in a literary magazine and it may not be in our next novel. We can’t force the odd and strange on our readers. Well, we could try to do just that, but we can’t make them like our experimental writing.

They may enjoy it, and if so, we’ve gained readers.  But people have every right to turn away from stories that don’t entertain.

Readers come to fiction primarily for entertainment. They may learn something, they may solve puzzles or stretch their minds, but they want entertainment. If they wanted to be taught, they’d go first to something other than a novel or short story. If they wanted to be swayed to an opinion, they’d seek a magazine article, the op-ed page, or a preacher.

Novels and story can deal with great social issues, of course. But the most powerful do so in an entertaining manner, in a way that taps not only into a reader’s mind but into his heart. Story engages mind and imagination and emotions, all of which can be used to draw the reader deep into the themes and topics you want him to think about, that you want him to dwell on.

We know from our own experiences that fiction can affect individual readers as well as sway large numbers. Yet writers must not come across as overly preachy or manipulative. Thus the need for the entertainment factor. Even if we write to move our readers, either emotionally or to actually act on what they’ve read, we want to do it in a way that touches them without turning them off, that draws them in without making them wonder if we’re up to something, if we’re pushing a personal agenda, if we’re forcing some issue on them.

Readers who feel manipulated might quite easily put down a novel and never pick it up again.

But even with this restriction against obvious manipulation, we have near endless choices.

What entertains one reader may be vastly different from what entertains another, so writers have many, many options for plot and approach and style. We can entertain a large audience, even with the limitations we impose. But if we experiment and produce something vastly non-entertaining, being surprised when people refuse to read it just doesn’t make sense.

If you want readers, you have to write for them. Yes, you need to please the audience, even though you may have heard that true artists write or paint or play only for themselves.

We know that’s not true. Not if we intend to sell books to readers other than ourselves.

If you are your only audience, you miss a great portion of your potential as a writer.

I’d like to say that you can do whatever you want, write whatever you want and in any style, but I’d be doing you a disservice to suggest that.

If you want readers, an audience of more than one, you have to consider them. You have to give them thought as you’re writing, as you’re rewriting and editing, as you’re promoting.

If you don’t care to be published or read, then what others think is irrelevant. But if you write for an audience, their likes and dislikes are quite relevant.

Of course you’ll never please everyone. You can’t. You won’t. Please don’t try and don’t feel that you’re a failure if some simply don’t care for your style or your subjects or your characters. People are too different for your work to appeal to everyone.

But you should know who you are trying to appeal to. What would they enjoy? What do they read? How can you give them what they want at the same time you challenge yourself to write something different with each story?

That’s one of writing’s mysteries, that ability to appeal to an audience at the same time you satisfy your own writing needs. We can get help and advice from others who’ve gone before us, but we need to discover for ourselves how to infuse our writing with those factors that make readers want to settle down in a quiet corner with our books the moment they’re available.

If a sure-fire formula existed, everyone could follow it and produce best-sellers. But there is no formula. Each writer has to fashion her skills and her plot ideas into pleasing stories. And the method and that fashioning is different for every writer.

_________________________________

What I kept wondering when I read that article on the possible death of fiction was whether the writers of pieces in those literary magazines actually considered their audience before they wrote or if they wrote solely to please themselves and other writers and the magazines’ editors.

Do we respect our readers, or do we insist they’re at fault if they don’t “get” our work? Do we write for an audience of one or to entertain a true audience, people outside our own minds?

Do we experiment with an eye to proving we can master a particular task we set ourselves, so we can pat ourselves on the back, or do we experiment in order to bring new styles and approaches to an audience looking for something fresh?

I don’t want to say that there aren’t times of pure experimentation and times of stretching ourselves and of taking risks. Unless you’re quite content with your output and audience, you should always challenge yourself. But you should also remember readers and consider their needs. Remember, too, that they can choose to read someone else, to buy other books.

Can I suggest that you find the balance between writing for audience and writing for self?

Know what you want from your writing life, whether it’s satisfaction measured solely by your own standards or whether it’s the acclaim of a wider audience.

I’m guessing that most who would read this article are writing for more than their own pleasure, that you want to please readers. That you want to have readers. So my reminder is that you remember them as you create. Remember to give them something to laugh at or cry over or ponder. Give them stories that resonate, stories they can understand, or stories they can live in for a while, live in and draw from and use to stimulate their own lives.

Write for your readers.

If you are your only reader, then you already know what pleases you. If you write for others, you may need to do some research to see what you can do to reach them, even if that reach and contact will last only a few hours. Or perhaps you can touch readers in a way that will change their lives, set them on a new course. But you won’t do either if you don’t give thought to the reader as you write your stories.

*******

This article’s a bit different—no suggestions for grammar or any of the elements of fiction. But it’s a topic just as important for writers. What good are grammar and plot or character or setting without an audience of readers?

I’m curious to know how others feel about this topic, whether you think it’s important to write to please the reader or if you’re of the belief that writers should write to please only themselves.

Maybe you have a great argument for another perspective. If so, please share. Multiple viewpoints can bring clarity to any topic.

***

The article I was working on for tonight—on grammar and punctuation—has been pre-empted by this one.

Just two weeks ago I wrote an article on discouragement—I didn’t know how timely it was.

I’ve heard from several writers this week who’ve received either highly negative rejections or nasty feedback. Feedback nasty enough that the writers are discouraged about continuing to write.

Let me first say that I’m sorry when anyone gets nasty comments about his or her writing. I think you can tell a writer he needs work—even a lot of work—without resorting to nastiness. Without crushing the writer’s spirit.

That doesn’t mean I think that agents or editors (or contest judges) should sugarcoat either. But there’s a lot of leeway between sugarcoating and painting every comment with contempt.

Yes, agents and editors and publishers are busy. No, they don’t owe writers—especially ones who’ve not done their homework—writing lessons or even tips on what they could do to improve their manuscripts.

They do, however, owe writers simple professional courtesy.

This article is not a bashing of agents and publishers; they do a damned tough job. If sometimes they let frustration get the better of them, as we all do, I hope they resolve to hold back that frustration the next time.

And there will be a next time.

Agents and editors receive hundreds, thousands, of manuscripts a year that are simply not ready. Not ready to be seen, certainly not ready to be published. Not ready to be bought and promoted by a reputable publishing house.

Before submitting stories, writers need to do their jobs. And that includes learning the craft of writing and how to submit according to publisher guidelines. I’m not blaming writers for a particular agent’s or editor’s uncomplimentary rejection; I am saying that writers can help themselves by being better prepared. Each time writers submit poorly written manuscripts, they create a tougher environment for other writers. To help themselves, writers should

Learn the elements of story, from broad basics to fine nuance

Learn grammar and punctuation rules

Write and then rewrite and then rewrite again

Solicit feedback from other writers—and listen to them

Never submit a manuscript before its time—a first draft should never be submitted

Be prepared for rejection, for negative and cutting comments

Write the next manuscript, realizing that most writers don’t sell their early projects

________________________________

Writers, you will face rejection. Many times. But with those rejections, you might hear compliments about your story, even if a publisher can’t buy your book. Other times you’ll hear only the negative, everything that’s wrong with the manuscript and your style and your plot and the title and your characters and the dialogue and the way you cross your Ts. Still other times you’ll get no response at all, leaving you wondering where you stand.

Unless you’ve been promised feedback, don’t expect it. And don’t read anything, positive or negative, into a lack of comments. Just send your manuscript to the next agent or editor on your list.

When you do get a heavily negative response, remind yourself that this is one person sharing one opinion. Even if the negative feedback is from your favorite agent, remember that he is one man, one opinion, one voice. He is not the arbiter of all things written. His words didn’t start your writing career and his words won’t end it. Don’t let them end it.

He doesn’t have every answer. None of us knows it all.

And don’t forget, once you’ve gotten over the shock, to actually consider his words.

He might be absolutely, infuriatingly, spot on right.

And you might give your career the best boost ever by listening to him and following his suggestions.

Rejection and painful comments are ahead of you if you go forward with your writing career, and I can’t tell you that you won’t face either or that they’re not going to hurt.

I can tell you that unless the agent or editor or publisher knows you, the rejection truly isn’t personal.

You are not being rejected.

Yes, your story might be rejected, but you are not your manuscript.

You are the creator and you can create again. A better story. A more skillfully written manuscript. A novel an agent or publisher can sell.

So . . . to the point of the article, besides the ones I’ve already made here: how do you respond to highly negative rejections and feedback and critiques and judges’ comments?

Feel free to mix and match from the following responses—

Complain to your spouse (mother, best friend, crit partner)

Enjoy a jumbo margarita

Serve yourself an extra scoop of chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream

Write a nasty letter in return to get the emotions out—need I say do not send it?

Play with your children

Read the rejection letters and rejection histories of favorite or famous authors

Write something new

Exercise (yes, I’m serious)

Carefully consider the suggestions in the feedback, if there were any

Take a class, join a writing group, learn more about the art of writing and the skills necessary to produce good art

Stir yourself to write a better story, to show the agent, editor, publisher, or judge what you’re made of

Be willing to face reality—A dozen rejections, even a couple of dozen, is not uncommon. But three hundred rejections for the same manuscript? It’s time to put that manuscript away and begin the next. 

Edit and rewrite again if the manuscript needs it

Submit to the next agent or publisher on your list

What you shouldn’t do—

Complain about the agent, editor, publisher, or contest on your blog, on Twitter, on Facebook, or in any other public place

Quit writing

Allow the opinions of others to turn you away from your writing goals

Allow a single person to stifle, steal, or destroy your dream

What to do if your feedback is always positive and yet you still don’t sell the manuscript, can’t get an agent, never win a contest—

Check your genre against the needs of the agent and publisher—maybe you’re not submitting to the right people

Be bold and ask one, maybe two (but not all), of the agents or editors who seem especially encouraging why they didn’t accept your manuscript

Rework your synopsis if you’ve been including one—maybe it isn’t doing its job and maybe it’s working against you

Review your personal presentation and your reputation—have you positioned yourself as a writer that agents and publishers will want to work with?

Write and/or submit your next manuscript

Review your manuscript—determine if there are ways to change it from a good story to a great one

Review your stance—are you willing to make changes in the story in order to sell it and if not, has that attitude colored your interactions with agents and editors?

Make personal contact with editors and agents at conferences—you may have better success with someone who’s met you

Realize that you may never get a satisfactory answer for why a manuscript doesn’t sell

*******

I won’t say I’m sorry for having written another article on encouragement so close to the last one—I want you to know that you’re not alone, that there’s a worldwide writing community on your side, that there are agents and editors and publishers who aren’t trying to derail you but simply trying to do their jobs with the tools that they’ve acquired and with the skills they’ve developed and with the reality of the hundreds of unready manuscripts they face each week.

Yes, rejection is painful. Yes, writing is tough. Yes, you give up a lot for the privilege to write.

But writing is deeply satisfying and writers should write, often and with passion and unwavering determination, in order to feel the satisfaction of putting words together to make story, story that others can enjoy and ponder over and wonder about.

Write well today. And write with a renewed heart.

You can succeed.

***