There’s a statue inside that rock

I recently rewrote a book I love called Westgate: A Nick Marino Mystery. I really liked writing the book and I fell in love with the characters, especially Nick Marino. He’s such a loveable idiot.

I ended up cutting five thousand words from an eighty-thousand-word manuscript.  It was easier than one might think. If you read my blog about killing your darlings, it’s become easier and easier.  

I cut at least three entire chapters. I felt that they were redundant, and I found myself wanting to get to the damn story. Nothing was happening. Nick wasn’t in danger. He was thinking funny things. Maybe even talking to himself. But it just slowed the story down.

Here’s a secret book editing formula for you:

Highlight + Delete = Better.  

Like Michelangelo carving the Statue of David out of a big ass rock, as writers, we sometimes need to make a big ass rock out of words. You lay it out there, all of it in its amorphous rock self. Just rock, rock, rock, rock, rock.  

And it’s in there. The statue. Waiting for the artist to chip away. Big chunks at first. You can see the body form: arms, legs, something that looks like a head, etc. What does this chapter serve? Is it telling us something new about the character? Is it moving the story forward? No? Bring me the big hammer.  

Then the chisels get smaller because those hands need fingers. The finer details. Eyes, lips, hair. Am I being redundant? Telling the reader something they already knew? Explaining too much? A smaller hammer will do.  

Then the polish. Words I didn’t need? An unnecessary sentence? Sandpaper. We’re almost there.  

Now I read the manuscript and it doesn’t slow. I don’t find myself wanting something to happen. Hand me the fluffy towel. Gonna make it shine.

Oh, and hand me that beer next to it. We’re done.