Friday, August 30, 2013

Reduce, reuse, recycle


Not a bad mantra by any means. But what about when it comes to writing?

I spent several years penning a magnum opus that went nowhere, despite, ironically, being a travel novel. Although I know Heinlein says not to rewrite except on editorial order, I’ve abandoned the book; this thing wasn’t even good enough to get an editor to order anything at all about it.

After all that work, however, I was reluctant to ditch completely what I had written. So, I did a copy and paste job to about 20K words into my WIP Nyasaland. As long as I know I won’t use the scenes again, why not put that previous hard work to good use?

Nyasaland is more or less done, it just needs some ironing out. It struck me in the rereads, however, that I like the new parts much more than the parts salvaged from the old book. In fact, the older scenes are the most difficult to get through and to edit. But why?

Possibility 1. I have improved as a writer. This is my favorite option, since I get to be a smarty pants, and I’m sure it’s true to some degree. Maybe there is a reason not even my girlfriends couldn't finish reading it (yes, the writing and rewriting outlived several relationships). But if this possibility were true, I would be able to fix the problems and be happier with the result. But I’m not. I’m just as unhappy with the edited scenes as I was when I pasted them in.

Possibility 2. I have “Golden Word Syndrome.” I thought the old book was perfect when it clocked in at 230K words. Okay, maybe it was still as perfect at the 200K words I pared it down to. I am meticulous, and every word was exactly the word it needed to be and was where it needed to be. The problem with that assessment is nobody agreed. Nobody said they loved the book. Fewer than five people (out of about twenty who attempted) were even able to finish it. But this possibility doesn’t seem right either. I accept rewriting as part of writing, and expect improvement when I do.

Possibility 3. The transplanted scenes are metaphysically different from the rest of the book. Ever tell a joke that had people rolling at one party only to have it fall flat at the next? “Guess you just had to be there.” Perhaps moving a scene from one book to another is kind of like that; each book has its own indescribable essence and simply changing tenses, names, subtle points of style, etc., isn’t enough. The new scenes in Nyasaland worked because they were created for that book; the old scenes worked in the old book for the same reason.

Possibility 4. The book was completely perfect in every way, I’m overthinking this, and I gave up too early. Yeah, right. See #2.

Possibility 5. I have improved enough to know what’s wrong, but not enough to know how to fix it. Well, this post pretty much proves that, huh?

6 comments:

  1. I was having the recycling conversation just this week with some author friends of mine.

    I think the consensus was that we try to re-use the ideas, but not the actual passages. There's some truth to the snippets being metaphysically different from one work to the next, I think. You've got to chew them up a bit and spit them back out...pat the edges smooth and re-bake, so to speak.

    Commercial fiction is a bit different, though, because when we have A GREAT IDEA, we have to use it if it hasn't been done before. It's like a law. We have to find somewhere to put those precious words, and may even start a whole new story for them before the last one's done. X-(

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    1. I think you're on to something; Nyasaland is a whole new book built around 15K words from the old novel, and those 15K work okay. It's the other parts I've tried to shoehorn in that don't work. But recycling the ideas instead of the passages, that's probably the answer here.

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  2. I would agree with Holley. You can reuse the ideas, some bits, but you have grown as a writer and this is a different story.

    :)

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  3. I think what you're trying to do is kind of like performing a head transplant where the head you're patching on is from an identical twin. It might fit the body, and it may even live, but it will never quite look right.

    Holy moly, did I really just write that?

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    1. And I'll bet a head transplant is the subject of your next story :-) I've pondered what that would be like myself. "Those are my hands, but . . . they're not."

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