By A.P. Fuchs
It’s common knowledge that at least 99% of all writers are readers. There are probably only a scant few who, for whatever reason, do not sit down with a book, a magazine or newspaper and lose themselves in the words of another. And, it is safe to assume that at least 50% of readers want to be writers. Some readers are writers, but many are not and only aspire to cranking out that first novel or short story.
The most common “difficulty” I hear from aspiring writers when it comes to working on their novel (usually resulting in quitting the project), is editing. Most young writers tend to make the great mistake of trying to edit as they go along and write each chapter “perfectly” before moving onto the next. Now, granted, this does work for some writers but the majority of them do not work like this.
The following is some basic ideas about the different stages your words go through when crafting your story. What is stated in this article is the “norm,” but each artist is different, so if this works for you, great. If not, that’s okay, too.
To begin, we start with the sometimes-daunting task of creating that first draft (and, yes, you’ll have more than one draft; if you do not, your chances of getting your work accepted anywhere whether by publishers or readers is next to nil, if not nil already). When I think of the words “first draft,” I think of throwing up. And I’m not saying that the idea of a first draft sickens me either. But, in essence, that’s what your first draft should be. It should be you throwing up, upchucking, vomiting, puking, spewing, honking your novel or story out from the “stomach and guts” of you brain and into the “bucket or toilet” of your computer screen or notepad.
While you’re throwing up, do not pay attention to what precisely is coming out of you. Instead, focus on aiming into the bowl, in this case, the bowl being your notepad or computer, and just get it out. Sure, pay attention to the words but if a sentence doesn’t look pretty or you think you could do better, leave it. If it truly merits a change, you’ll remember it when you come across it later. Just get your story out and, if times get tough (i.e. writer’s block—though this is a myth as well), stick your finger down your throat and throw up anyway. Just write your story. Once it is out of your system, you’ll feel a whole lot better. I promise.
Now, like all good sessions at the toilet bowl, you’ll need to rest afterward. Set your now completed manuscript aside and let yourself recover. If you have another idea for a story, sorry pal, you’re already sick and you’ll have to throw that one up too. If you don’t, then you get some well-deserved R and R. In regards to the time required to letting your stomach settle down, it varies. Whether you wrote a short piece, like a short story or article, or a longer piece, like a novel or novella (short novel), the breaking time is usually different. For short pieces, I generally give myself a few days away from them, 3-4, all depending on if I have a deadline or not. When it comes to novels or novellas, I follow Stephen King’s suggestion of 6 weeks (again, depending on deadlines but it’s always a month for sure), and I make a conscious effort to not think of my story. Each time it crawls into my brain, I chase it away. After all, who likes to remember being sick?
Once the rest period is over and your stomach has settled down, it is time for your second draft. It’s time to get down on your hands and knees and take a good hard look at what you threw up. And, since you’ve been away from it so long, you’ll see many things that you do not remember having had eaten. But, to keep it simple, your job now is take your story and flush or sweep away all that is not needed. Clear away that pale yellow mucus covering the lumps of food, leaving only what you actually ate behind, those chunks of story that are important: potato chips (plot); French fries (sub-plots, if you ate them); hamburger meat (characters); lettuce (theme); bread/bun (conflict); onion (resolution); ketchup (pacing); mustard (climax), and anything else you like on your burger. Your job here is to separate all the above elements and try to construct them back into the meal you ate, in this case, a hamburger with fries and potato chips. You need to alienate what you washed it all down with, let’s say a soda, which also doubles as the “way” you told your story, the words that had nothing to do with your meal but were there to help you throw up your story.
The second draft is meant for you to take your broom (red pen) and sweep the hell out of your story, finding every little piece that’s important, and mopping aside all the soda that isn’t. What you want left is actually a bigger mess than what you threw up, but at least this mess has structure, it makes sense. You can say to yourself, “Now I remember what I ate. It was a hamburger with onions and lettuce, ketchup and mustard, with fries and potato chips on the side.” It’s as though you’re getting your meal ready for a menu photo shoot, a new meal that is of your own person choice (your story). Don’t forget, all meals look good with a bit of garnish and candlelight (spelling and grammar). Make sure your garnish is immaculate and that the candle you’ve chosen—the color, the size of the wick and flame, the positioning of it on the table so it casts a healthy glow on your meal—all looks good. At this point you’ll have all you need to truly get your meal ready for the camera. You have all the parts and the burger is pretty much assembled. The fries and chips are laid out and the garnish is on the plate and the candle is on the table…just not positioned as well as it should be.
Once your sweeping from the second draft is either typed up or rewritten, it is time to do draft 3. Whether you want to take a break between drafts 2 and 3, that’s up to you. For some people, playing with puke makes them sick so they need a few days to recover. I personally wait a day or two before visiting my story again (pending any deadline, of course). The third draft is also known as your “polish” draft. It’s where you take something so-so or merely good, and make it shine, make it great. The goal of your third draft is to clean up any bits you may have missed while working on your second draft. Was there some soda you left behind? Is an unnecessary piece of lettuce poking out from beneath the hamburger bun? Is the ketchup or mustard leaking over the sides? Does the burger fit the bun or vice versa? When it comes time to offer this meal to another person (the reader), is it too much for them to digest? Is the burger too big? Too many fries? Too many potato chips? Once all this is complete, you’ll have put your hamburger back together again and, though the meal looks good, you’ll still need a second opinion. You’ve been working with this burger so long and though you’re happy with it, you’re not sure if it’s read for consumption just yet. It’s time to seek out the manager (an editor) to see if the meal is fit to go to the studio.
You’ll send the manager your proposed meal (draft 3) and see if he or she knows of any way to make it better. Did you leave one too many fries on the plate? Did you forget to tear off a little piece of lettuce? Miss some mustard or ketchup that smeared on the bun? Is your garnish properly used and is your candle in the right place on the table? An editor is really good at finding these things and helping you make the necessary adjustments. They also know this meal is yours. You made it yourself, after all, so they’re there to suggest what else needs cleaning up. Maybe you took off too much meat and it’s time to go back to the kitchen (your office) and cook a little more (write some more into the area that needs fleshing out). Maybe you chose a good candle but the color is a little off or the wick isn’t burning brightly enough. Maybe the burger needs extra flavor and could use more mustard and ketchup. Once you’ve gone back into the kitchen, set your meal aside for a day or two (or longer, if you prefer) before taking a look at it again. Was the manager right? Were other things needed? Most likely they were. Management, after all, has worked their way up the chain and most likely knows things you do not.
When you are satisfied with how your meal turned out, you can take it to the studio (a publisher or agent) and see if they’ll take its picture. Be sure to follow the studio’s guidelines when it comes to preparing your meal for its photo shoot. A studio hates having to get the meal ready to have its picture taken and will much rather skip yours and look at the next one in line.
And there you have it, an analogous guide to drafting your story, whether
long or short. Here’s hoping I see you on the menu. I’m always
up for trying a new meal. And, thankfully, since the above has been followed,
I do know that when your latest meal comes along, I’ll be well fed.