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odd_buttonsThe following is an excerpt from Part III of the book Making Shapely Fiction, by Jerome Stern. The first two parts are very much worth reading as well. The book is available in paperback.
Revision
A story that appears full-blown, finished, and completely realized in its first draft is rarer than the ninety-yard pass, the hole-in-one, or the sixty-foot basket. Those feats are almost miraculous exceptions to the general rule. For writers the general rule is revision. A story grows with each draft, finding itself, developing its textures, and eliminating what is extraneous. Revision is integral to the creative process. It is the work's discovery of itself.
Your first draft may be uninhibited, exploratory, and experimental. You must look at it closely, ponder it, and ask yourself certain questions: What am I trying to do? What is the heart of the matter? Why are all these characters here? Why are all these scenes here? Why did I start the story where I did? Why did I devote all that space to that scene? Why did I devote so little space to this scene? Why did I handle point of view that way? Is my narrative voice the way I want it?
Often first drafts start out as one story and turn into another. The second idea might be the real story and the first was warm-up. Or the first got sidetracked, and the second idea might make a good story, but not the good story you're working on now. Or there might be a single anecdote you now see is the heart of it all, the real story you want to tell.
Some writers get hung up on first-draft ideas, as if to abandon any one is to betray some primal creative impulse. "If I wrote it, it must be important." Other writers are too quick to cut their freshest passages. "Oh, that part's too weird." But it's the thoughtful shaping of these impulses that creates art. Fear of making decisions or an oversolicitous, doting fondness for your prose paralyzes your work. And it's a lack of trust in their individual vision that makes writers take out the best parts.
Another sort of frustration occurs when writers actually change their minds about what their stories are from draft to draft. Each revision is not a step forward but sideways. Each is a first draft of another possible story. This variety of the discovery process is confusing because the story is getting no closer to being finished. To bring your story to fruition, you have to choose one possibility and develop that.
Figuring out your own weaknesses takes thought and experience. Some people feel miserable when they're asked to revise because they don't really know how to tell which parts are fine and which parts need work, and they don't have any specific sense of what to do. But there are principles that can be learned; I guess that's what this book is mostly about.
Since revising is the discovery of the heart of the story, it's a progressive process; each revision brings you closer to success. And the closer you come, the more complete the story feels. Revision continues until you reach the point at which you feel you have done all you can to make the story as complete as it can be. It might not be perfect. You might know more later, but now is not later. Now is the time to send it out, to see if it flies.
See Advice, Workshop.
Revision
A story that appears full-blown, finished, and completely realized in its first draft is rarer than the ninety-yard pass, the hole-in-one, or the sixty-foot basket. Those feats are almost miraculous exceptions to the general rule. For writers the general rule is revision. A story grows with each draft, finding itself, developing its textures, and eliminating what is extraneous. Revision is integral to the creative process. It is the work's discovery of itself.
Your first draft may be uninhibited, exploratory, and experimental. You must look at it closely, ponder it, and ask yourself certain questions: What am I trying to do? What is the heart of the matter? Why are all these characters here? Why are all these scenes here? Why did I start the story where I did? Why did I devote all that space to that scene? Why did I devote so little space to this scene? Why did I handle point of view that way? Is my narrative voice the way I want it?
Often first drafts start out as one story and turn into another. The second idea might be the real story and the first was warm-up. Or the first got sidetracked, and the second idea might make a good story, but not the good story you're working on now. Or there might be a single anecdote you now see is the heart of it all, the real story you want to tell.
Some writers get hung up on first-draft ideas, as if to abandon any one is to betray some primal creative impulse. "If I wrote it, it must be important." Other writers are too quick to cut their freshest passages. "Oh, that part's too weird." But it's the thoughtful shaping of these impulses that creates art. Fear of making decisions or an oversolicitous, doting fondness for your prose paralyzes your work. And it's a lack of trust in their individual vision that makes writers take out the best parts.
Another sort of frustration occurs when writers actually change their minds about what their stories are from draft to draft. Each revision is not a step forward but sideways. Each is a first draft of another possible story. This variety of the discovery process is confusing because the story is getting no closer to being finished. To bring your story to fruition, you have to choose one possibility and develop that.
Figuring out your own weaknesses takes thought and experience. Some people feel miserable when they're asked to revise because they don't really know how to tell which parts are fine and which parts need work, and they don't have any specific sense of what to do. But there are principles that can be learned; I guess that's what this book is mostly about.
Since revising is the discovery of the heart of the story, it's a progressive process; each revision brings you closer to success. And the closer you come, the more complete the story feels. Revision continues until you reach the point at which you feel you have done all you can to make the story as complete as it can be. It might not be perfect. You might know more later, but now is not later. Now is the time to send it out, to see if it flies.
See Advice, Workshop.
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Date: 2004-12-14 01:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-12-15 02:51 pm (UTC)