The fourth line, and then the fifth line …
As you know, I’m on a George Saunders kick at the moment, and this email closes a trilogy inspired by his Swim In A Pond In The Rain. More about all that in a second – but first up, just a word to say that there’s some important housekeeping material in the first comment below this post. All important stuff – and you’re quite likely to be affected, so do take a look.
Righty-ho. Editing. Writing and editing:-
I want to start with something Saunders says at the very beginning of his work. He says this:
Years ago, on the phone with Bill Buford, then fiction editor of The New Yorker, enduring some painful edits, feeling a little insecure, I went fishing for a compliment: ‘But what do you like about the story?’ I whined. There was a long pause. And Bill said this: ‘Well, I read a line. And I like it … enough to read the next.’
… I’ve taken a lot of comfort in this idea over the years. I don’t need a big theory of fiction to write it. I don’t have to worry about anything but: Would a reasonable person, reading line four, get enough of a jolt to go on to line five?
In a way, that’s the whole deal, right? If someone enjoys our writing enough to read it through at a happy canter, we’ve won. Some readers will find more in a book than others. Some people will rank us higher or lower than some other comparable authors. But don’t be fussy. If someone reads our work, line by line, to the end, we’ve done what we came to do.
In the past week or two, I’ve run a self-editing webinar where I live-edited about 1000 words of text, over the space of about an hour. We also spent time, you and I, with that white chairs / green terraces exercise, where we all spent a lot of time trying to find a way to say something simple in about ten words (without, I think, yet finding a completely satisfactory answer.)
Many of you will have felt a little frustrated by the amount of time I’m willing to spend on apparently minor things. (Does whitely work as an adjective? Can Dan talk about his sister standing outside his door, when he doesn’t actually know if she’s standing or not?)
And, just to be clear, I really am willing to spend time on minor things. When I fuss over minutiae on a webinar, I’m not putting on a show simply because I have an hour-long gig to deliver. I’m doing in public what I do all the time in private. The truth, indeed, is worse than you fear. In an hour-long webinar, I’m conscious of the need to entertain and keep moving. At home, with no one watching, I’ll just redo the same damn sentence as long as it takes to make me happy.
So yes: I am picky. And yes: I too subscribe to the Buford Theory of Fiction (BTF): If sentence N is good enough, they’ll read sentence N + 1, and …
According to that theory, micro-blockages in a piece of text can accumulate to lethal effect. If you write a sentence that forces the reader to pause and re-construe the sentence in her head, you’ve created a momentary interruption in the flow. A few such interruptions in the course of a book are perhaps inevitable. But two or three such blockages on a single page? That book is one that the BTF tells you will never be read.
So editing is good for that reason.
But Saunders says – let’s call this the Saunders Theory of Fiction, the STF – that editing is also the process that creates highly organised fiction (or, if you prefer, simply good fiction.) Here is Saunders again:
We can reduce all writing to this: we read a line, have a reaction to it, trust (accept) that reaction, and do something in response, instantaneously, by intuition.
That’s it.
Over and over.
It’s kind of crazy but, in my experience, that’s the whole game: (1) becoming convinced that there is a voice inside you that really, really knows what it likes, and (2) getting better at hearing that voice and acting on its behalf.
(I always like Gore Vidal’s way of saying something similar: ‘Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn.’ That’s simple, reliable advice. Just apply it – and boom! Twenty years later, you’ll be a good writer.)
But Saunders presses home a wider point, which is that the repetitious action of read / react / change / re-read ends up building into something that is you, but is also bigger than you. More humane. Funnier. More observant. More insightful. More nuanced. More coherent.
On the one hand, you’re not that funny, that observant, that nuanced – but you can be a bit of all those things, sometimes. So you capture the funny when the funny is there. Four paragraphs later, a phrase floats onto the page that has more deftness, more nuance than the thing you replaced. Your page still isn’t that funny, or that nuanced, but what the hell? You’re only on round #4 of the editing. You’ve got lots more opportunities to find the humane / observant / funny / tender, etc. Each time you adjust the manuscript, the book will have more of you breathing in it, but a better, perfected sort of you.
What’s more, as the book takes shape, your story starts pushing things at you. The decisions you make about sentence 8 on page 197 are informed by the 196 pages you’ve already read and the 112 pages that follow (and whose content you already know.)
An example: my current work in progress is based in a secure psychiatric hospital on the west coast of Wales. The hospital has something of the air of a ‘fortress built by Nature for herself’, but my description of the hospital never quite found a way to make the surrounding ocean feel present and alive. There’s a scene where my character first arrives at the hospital, and I’d already reviewed and rewritten that scene a dozen or more times without finding a way to get the sea in there (or, indeed, realizing that I needed to.) But by the time I’d finished the book and had the whole of it, so to speak, in my hand, I felt precisely what the deficiency was and started – Saunders-like – to scramble towards a solution.
As that process continues, the themes and metaphors of the book will start to take shape and cohere, by themselves. I won’t be thinking, “Gee, need to make more of the sea-as-metaphor.” I’ll just react to sentences and scenes, and go on making my fiddlesome little corrections, until I start to get happy. And, based on past experience, I predict that when I get happy enough to say ‘Finished’, the book will have taken on enough complexity and coherence to be something of value in the world.
That’s all from me, but do remember to take a look immediately below in the comments, because there lurk truffles.
Point the first
Did I mention that we have a new website? And very fancy it is too. We’d love feedback, so let us know what you think. We’re all ears.
Point the second
The Summer Festival of Writing was bloody amazing last year, so we’re doing it again this year, but better. We learned what really worked for you and what didn’t. We’ve brought back some terrific names from last year and brought some really great new superstars on board.
The whole programme will cover pretty much everything you could want to know about – craft, publishing, self-publishing, marketing and a whole heap more – and our early bird discount is lavish. Because the whole thing takes place online, you’re welcome, no matter where in the world you happen to be. More info here.
Point the third
Want a brisk, practical course in the basics of creative writing? Or creative, narrative-style non-fiction? Or writing for children? We’ve developed new courses which aim to give you a swift tour of the territory in the company of the best tutors around.
Some of our competitors sell courses at similar prices, where essentially all of the feedback is peer-to-peer, and not from the tutor themselves. We think that approach is like selling a rose without petals, an apple without crunch. So we don’t do it. You’ll get top quality lecture material. Top quality peer-to-peer feedback. And plenty of authoritative tutor-feedback too. More here.
The website is GREAT. Really clear and user friendly. Loving it. Great layout and visuals, and clear as to what is free/discounted etc. Good job guys. And really looking forward to the Summer Festival – my first time. When can we book?
“Each time you adjust the manuscript, the book will have more of you breathing in it, but a better, perfected sort of you.” — love this line! I am holding onto it while I continue the tedious task of editing my first novel ! ❣️
You want another tip? Love the editing process. If you think of it as a chore, you’ll leave it long before the MS is ready. If you love it, your manuscript will love you back
Thank you for the encouragement. I have roughly 40 pages remaining in my first edit, and it has been a joy to read and improve! Now to add a little more of myself in the remaining… say 20 edits, and we’ll have a manuscript! 🌟
I have such an enormous literary crush on George Saunders. I got a lot from A Swim in A Pond in the Rain and it’s been a treat to hear your highlights and thoughts.
You’re welcome! I’m not sure I’m allowed to have a crush on GS exactly, but I’d certainly give him a good manly handshake if I met him! 🙂
Harry, I love your Friday e-mails. Sometimes I forget that the day is Friday, and when I see your post in the In-box, I get a lift and think, Oh boy, I get to read what Harry is thinking about this week. I love what you say, and the way say it. The truth which really leapt out at me today is this: “…your story starts pushing things at you.” It certainly does, and there is no more beautiful push and shove in life than that. Thank you!
Thanks, Janet! It’s certainly always lovely when the story starts telling you what to do …
Great – I was waiting for this – I said as much elsewhere in this labyrinth of ante-rooms and digital cul-de-sacs but it has disappeared. Last week on causality – where the point of one thing in the tale must be that it leads to the next – John Gardner (The Art of Fiction) points out that the same thing is needed in a sentence – that sense of continuity. How you wind up with satisfaction at the end of the sentence not because the prose flows, though it should, but there is continuity to the end. If that, then this.
To steal the idea of PPS:
PPS. John Gardner is fearsome. Put me off writing for a week as he says bad writing shows bad character. I resisted that idea stoutly but have now accepted he’s right. I am of bad character. When I go into countryside post-offices, the shopkeeper’s finger is never far from the concealed alarm button.
Ha! Definitely want to see the CCTV of you in one of our local post offices. Are you the person who keeps leaving sticky fingerprints on the Beauty Of The Cotswold calendars? Hmmm? Hmmmmmmm?
White wicker chairs sat vacant in the leafy tunnel.
The cast of Jericho headed towards them. Fantasy took one, Thriller the next. The last was pulled in by Literary, who wished for a cushion.
Fantasy took two – one for him and one for his world-building prologue.
Love: Literary wished for a cushion
Actually, Literary lounged limply, longing for a pillow…..
… a cushion, and a glass of mint tea with a small hashish cookie on the side
Can a memoir sit with severely crossed legs?
Memoir sat, legs severely crossed, thinking of the time she’d made love there in wanton abandon.
Personally I abandoned my wanton a while back…
Glad to know I’m not the only one… I too “will just redo the same damn sentence as long as it takes to make me happy”. And I too love editing because that’s the only way to find your gems and make them shine, and make your story the best it can be.
Writing is a bit like painting: first you nurse your idea in your head, then you do a rough sketch on the canvas, add bold colours, then comes the details, and even when it is already looking like a finished painting you still add a few more tiny brush strokes, here and there, a sharper detail, a stronger effect.
Harry’s advice is excellent. If we follow it… Thank you Harry!
“Congratulation Harry”, It looks wonderful and am glad that am apart of a writing group of beautiful souls excellent advice.
Harry, you are fabulous …. as is/are (?) Jericho Writers, one of the best clubs I’ve ever belonged to! I used to be able to write more easily than I do now. I cared about the structure, the words and the grammar. However, the more I edit my work and the more I take on board from all your teachings, the more intimidated I become. I have done at least three major edits (not counting the small ones along the way) and then thrown 300 pages on the floor in tears and frustration. Recently, I realised that the work I liked best was somewhere in the middle of all of these edits so I’ve picked up the sheaves of paper and girding my loins yet again, am having one final attempt to find the enthusiasm and, indeed, love for my work. It is all so much harder than I ever would have imagined.❤️
All fun things are hard! And now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girded loin. Or perhaps I have, but I’ve never recognised it. Hmm. I wonder if anyone knows a good loin-girding service I could use …?