The Revision Monster
There are many aspects of writing a novel that are daunting. In most cases, works of fiction are born out of pure imagination. At least, that’s what the disclaimer, “This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons is coincidental” would have us believe. Saving the discussion of the true nature of characters on a page for a later date, much of what appears in a novel is formed in the writer’s mind.
Characters, locations, plots, and the like are created, and they can’t be typical. Each character and attribute needs to build the picture of someone so uniquely interesting that readers choose to spend time with them. Following that are the way the words fall on the page: comma versus period, American versus British spelling, and so on. For a writer to make so many choices from naming people and describing how they fall in love takes a great deal of effort and thought. (We hope. We will also put a pin in the invasiveness of subpar writing, not to mention AI). This is not the hardest part of writing, though.
In my career, I crave hours alone in front of the computer, dreaming up worlds and stories. Then once I’ve finished with them, I send my creations out into the universe for feedback. They come back to me bedraggled, criticized, and in some cases downright abused. I imagine Jim Carry in the movie Liar Liar with the blue ink all over his face from trying to call the royal blue pen red. Or, if you’re a Brendan Fraser fan, the people of Inkheart, brought into our world through reading, covered in the words of their books. Once the carnage is over and the survivors return, I gather my characters together, share their wounds, and the really hard work begins.
Revisions are the hardest part of writing.
I pause here, paying homage to that statement. (Sigh.) Moving on to why.
It’s been two years since I wrote a story called Yesterday’s Voice, my first attempt at a true Romance story. This was not my first story, not even close, but it was the first time I wrote with the beats in mind. Those standards of the novel structure were foreign to me. This was before I started my MFA. At that time, I understood the tropes enough to make an idiot of myself, not unlike my Spanish skills. So, I wrote what I felt was a strong male protagonist in an enemies-to-lovers story.
Poor Brandon. I wrote him so well. By well, I mean I crafted a character that was arrogant, conceited, self-serving, and had tons of room to grow. I did such a good job writing this aristocratic-hole, that no one liked him. Every beta reader gave me the same feedback; he was an astronomical tool bag and they hated him.
At first, I thought this was a good thing. After all, I accomplished what I attempted to do with his character… Sort of. I wrote a character with room to grow. I wrote a dominant male figure who challenges the sweet, innocent female, whom he eventually falls for. One thing that I have since learned and repeated often to anyone who will listen is this: Readers need to be able to root for your characters early on. They need a reason to want to like them, even if they have room to grow.
Side-stepping another issue, the dark romance, a protagonist in a romance novel needs to be likable for readers to buy into their story. Brandon only became likable in the last ten-thousand-ish words of Yesterday’s Voice. By that point, most readers were crying, “Too little, too late!” They were rooting for the side character Leonard, and most were not satisfied with Brandon’s repentance to the intrepid Yesterday. (One day, I’ll tell you the story of why I named her that.)
The book will flop if I don’t intervene, if I don’t revise. Taking in all the criticisms, and bear in mind, I have some of the nicest beta readers on the planet, I have to sort out what can be kept and what must be changed about the story and Brandon. But in my head, the egotistical tool bag is telling me that’s their problem, not his. As a writer, we carry with us all these voices, and once a character is created, it’s difficult to change that internal voice.
I love how Stephen King describes this in his memoir, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. He talks about creating space in your basement to keep all these people and spending time with them every day. In my romance writer centric world, I have a sun porch full of blossoming flowers, crowded with gardeners and their counterparts. But the concept is the same. I live with these fictional people like imaginary friends that follow me to school, who I set an extra seat for at the table, who I look for text messages from because their voice is so loud in my head I expect them to insert themselves into my real world.
How can I simply change them? I would never presume to change my real friends. Unfortunately, for Brandon to have a chance at life, I must rewrite him. He needs to be likable on page one, and that changes the dynamic between him and Yesterday. Once I know how he must change, I comb through fifty to one hundred thousand words, checking every mannerism, every look, making sure there’s a softer glance rather than a searing glare, a quirky grimace rather than a leer. Little by little, word by word, I must reinvent this man I already know.
If I am lucky or very talented, I will have to rethink a character or a plot point. In reality, the feedback doesn’t end with Brandon’s bad attitude. Revisions reach all levels: the believability of the world, the conditions under which the characters fall in love, and the age of Leonard. (He’s thirty-four, by the way. That’s in the revision.) Then I present him again to readers, hoping that my efforts are not wasted. That he’s changed for the better, and the story remains or becomes a compelling read.
The process of revisions is exhausting. Then, once I’ve satisfied as many people as possible, I submit my babies to the editor.
The next time you read a story, consider the time spent producing the novel, not just the technical difficulties of cover art or marketing. Think about the person sitting alone for hours, staring at the black squiggles on a white background, and all the colors you can see through their eyes, all the sounds, and textures they’ve created for you. Know that this didn’t happen by accident, and it was not easy. Unless there are brackets mid-sentence. Then it was probably AI.
