This blog is about my editing process, using a single scene as an example. I chose this scene because it’s short and self-contained, required ruthless cuts and thoughtful additions, and demonstrates how grounding a moment in place can transform it.
Here’s the First “vomit” Draft of the first scene in Chapter 11 of my third historical fantasy novel:
First Draft
Eigyr was not able to arrange time with Ambrosius the next day, nor the day after. The High King had many demands on his time—from his villa staff, other visiting dignitaries, and his black-robed priest Riocatus who seemed permanently attached to his shoulder. She admitted as much to her parents.
“Father, how am I to learn the measure of this man if he is too busy to find time for me?” Eigyr asked, unable to mask her frustration.
“I promised you could get to know him first, and I stand by that decision.” Amlawdd patted her hand sympathetically. “We still have time, daughter.”
Gwenwyn pursed her lips. “Surely we’re wearing out his hospitality.”
“Fortunately, he relies on me for information about the powerful clans of the west, from Gwynedd to Gwent, Powys to Dyfed. The man has a voracious thirst for information but soon my well will run dry.”
“How long do I have?” Gwenwyn asked.
“I give you a week, two at the most, before I must broach the subject with him.”
Eigyr hugged her father. “Thank you for that.”
“Hmph. Shouldn’t you be out there making yourself available?”
Commentary and My Trusty Red Pen
It’s 191 words of “ok.” It has words and paragraphs. It gets across the information to the reader. But it reads like talking heads floating in a void.
As usual, I start by marking up the print-out for the entire chapter. My edits include cuts (42 words), additions (13 words), and fixing one embarrassing typo (Eigyr, not Gwenwyn, is supposed to ask, ‘How long do I have?’). I also moved one sentence earlier and combined two paragraphs into one.
I return to my computer to transcribe the edits. For a few minutes I ponder the idea of cutting the entire scene. Do I need it? Yeah, I think I do. This scene establishes the stakes for the entire chapter and several that follow. So, after knuckle-cracking and light stretches, I apply the edits.
Something’s still missing, but what? Oh yeah… the setting.
Tethering the Talking Heads
To tether the talking heads, I need a tree branch, a hitching post, anything. In short, I need a setting. Where should this scene take place? In the reception room of their guest lodgings? Been there, done that.
I review my Pinterest board with images that inspired Villa Aurelia. Hmmm, there’s an inner courtyard I have never used, and an early 20th century reconstruction of Chedworth Roman Villa shows a peristyle garden in that location. Perfect.
I conduct some flash research to determine what you might find in that sort of garden in 460 A.D. Britannia in early April.
Here’s a summary of my findings: Some Boxwood hedges. Gravel paths. Shaded porticos. Benches. Ornamental pools. Birdbaths. Sundials. Potted plants and small trees. Flowers, herbs, birds.
I write a few ideas:
Eight square gardens, bounded by low rows of freshly planted boxwood saplings. Gravel crunched as they walked, and the air brought the scents of rosemary and sweet violets. Blue tits twittered and splashed in a birdbath where four paths met. Dani stood as still as a stork, studying a yellow butterfly that had alighted on one knuckle, while Tywan was running back and forth, tagging and nagging her to give chase.
Amlawdd tested a stone bench. He grunted his approval.
A painted statue of a lithe woman with a bent bow and a hound at her heel.
In fairness, the snippets above lived briefly as a vomit draft until I conducted a bit more research. What sorts of birds? What one flower and one herb would best represent two types of gardens? Are butterflies out in April? Are storks native to Britain, or should I swap to a heron? What statue would work best thematically and what material would it be made from?
Putting it Together
For about ten seconds, I was tempted to toss all of that text into the scene’s first paragraph, dust my palms and call it done. Sigh. That would be an info dump of the worst order. This was supposed to be a novel, not a brochure.
So, I took all of those rich sensory details and sprinkled them into the scene, a pinch here and a dusting there. Some details I loved, but they didn’t fit. For instance, once I wrote that Gwenwyn brought her wild daughter to heel, the statue of Diana became a distraction; it had to go. Even the boxwood hedges that started my imagination were no longer necessary.
I chalk this restraint up to an author’s event I attended last month. Joe Abercrombie read a chapter from his forthcoming novel. I was amazed by how he could evoke a setting with so few words about the setting itself, and realized that if you give readers a few clues, their imaginations will happily fill in the rest.
Second Draft
Eigyr was unable to arrange time with Ambrosius the next day, nor the day after. Between his black-robed priest, Riocatus, and visiting dignitaries, the High King had many demands on his time. She admitted as much to her parents one morning while taking air in the upper courtyard. They strolled the red gravel paths bounding eight square gardens, enjoying the scent of resinous rosemary and sweet violets.
“Father, how am I to take the measure of this man if he has no time for me?”
Amlawdd tested a limestone bench, grunting his approval. He reached out and patted her hand sympathetically. “We still have time, daughter.”
Where four paths met, blue tits twittered and splashed in a stone birdbath. Just beyond, Dani stood as still as a stork, entranced by a vibrant yellow butterfly that had alighted on one knuckle. Tywan was a blur of motion, running back and forth, tagging and nagging her to give chase.
“Do we?” Gwenwyn pursed her lips. “Surely, we’re wearing out his hospitality.”
“Fortunately, our High King has a deep thirst for knowledge. He plies me with endless questions about the western kingdoms and their rulers. That said, soon my well will run dry.”
Gwenwyn went to bring Tywan to heel before the wild girl scattered any more gravel.
“How long do I have?” Eigyr asked.
“A week, I should say. Two at most.” He rose from the bench and checked the seat of his trousers for any dampness. “Then I must either broach the subject with him or abandon our plan entirely.”
Eigyr hugged her father, burying her face against his shoulder. Shaggy graying hair tickled her cheek.
He grunted gruffly. “Shouldn’t you be out making yourself available?”
Conclusion
The scene is now 285 words, 50% longer. But I would argue it is orders of magnitude better. I grounded the scene, embodied the characters, and hopefully gave enough of a thumbnail image of the garden that readers’ imaginations will do the rest of the work. I was able to work in Eigyr’s “forgotten” sisters and reinforce their personalities. Finally, I made the dialogue a bit snappier and the emotions truer.
For me, this is the heart of revision: unifying plot, character, dialogue, and setting so they complement one another and propel the story forward.
Done and dusted. At least for Second Draft.
