Tag, You’re It! (Part 7)

How to Get Your Children’s Book Published
Step #7: Fixing It

Hi Edu­ca­tors! In the past six months, we’ve talked about the busi­ness of book pub­lish­ing and the basics of draft­ing sto­ry. Now it’s time for more infor­ma­tion on the all-impor­tant work of fix­ing that sto­ry, also known as revision.

Revi­sion is cov­ered in almost every book on writ­ing — a few recommendations: 

On Revi­sion by William Ger­mano. Though this is writ­ten for aca­d­e­m­ic writ­ers, it con­tains great infor­ma­tion, defin­ing revi­sion as “lis­ten­ing and see­ing again.”

Writ­ing Pic­ture Books by Ann Whit­ford Paul. If you are work­ing on a pic­ture book, this is a title to own. You will refer to it fre­quent­ly and Paul’s chap­ters on revi­sion are help­ful and specific. 

You: the Sto­ry by Ruta Sepetys. This is not specif­i­cal­ly about revi­sion but cov­ers using your own life expe­ri­ences in writ­ing sto­ries. It’s essen­tial direc­tion for revis­ing details and writ­ing authen­tic dialogue.

REVISION AS LISTENING

dog listeningUsing the above def­i­n­i­tion, revi­sion has two parts, “lis­ten­ing” and “see­ing again.”

Let’s start with lis­ten­ing. In revi­sion, we typ­i­cal­ly both 1) lis­ten to oth­ers who read and cri­tique our work (cov­ered a bit in step 5) and/or 2) learn to exam­ine our own writ­ing as read­ers. Though good cri­tique groups, writ­ing part­ners, or pro­fes­sion­al edi­tors are invalu­able, those peo­ple are not avail­able every day. Most suc­cess­ful writ­ers learn to step back and read their own work as if they were not the one writ­ing it. How do we do that? We read our drafts either aloud or to our­selves all the while ques­tion­ing what’s on the page. We are active­ly lis­ten­ing to our­selves as read­ers of our own work.

Each piece of writ­ing calls up dif­fer­ent kinds of ques­tions, but I kept a few notes of the ques­tions con­sid­ered as I read my recent pic­ture book draft of Houdini’s Library. These exam­ples may be help­ful to you to under­stand the broad and spe­cif­ic issues addressed:

Is it clear that Harry’s fam­i­ly is Jew­ish? How? Do kids today under­stand mag­ic tricks? Does a kid know what a shirt fac­to­ry is? Does a kid know what vaude­ville is? (Answers: prob­a­bly no). How can I stairstep that knowl­edge into the pre­vi­ous para­graphs to make it clear? What in a kids’ world can be used as exam­ples or metaphors? (answers: messy rooms, work­ing with a part­ner.) How will that word (exam­ples: mod­ern, Bible) be inter­pret­ed? What feel­ings do the words I’ve used call to mind? (exam­ple: strangers car­ry­ing off your fam­i­ly stories)

All the while I’m also stop­ping at every word, phrase, sen­tence, or para­graph to ques­tion, “Does that make sense to a kid? Is it clear? Is it active? Does it move the sto­ry along?” I’m lis­ten­ing to myself think through every step of reread­ing my own work. I’m read­ing as if I was not the writer.

None of this “lis­ten­ing” can be done in one ses­sion. It’s a grad­ual reread­ing of the whole man­u­script and then reread­ing at the para­graph, sen­tence, or word lev­el. While writ­ing, I reread my own work thou­sands, like­ly hun­dreds of thou­sands of times. On sub­se­quent rereads, authors address the big sto­ry com­po­nents too, ask­ing ques­tions like:

  • Does the action build? How, where, and why? Is that build­ing action con­sis­tent until pay­off at the climax?
  • Are the char­ac­ters indi­vid­ual?  How can read­ers tell them apart? Are their dif­fer­ences in action and dia­logue not just description?
  • How has each char­ac­ter emo­tion­al­ly changed? Is every major char­ac­ter cov­ered? Do their changes make sense?
  • Can I see, hear, feel, taste and touch the envi­ron­ment? Are the details spe­cif­ic and are enough sense words and phras­es used through­out to bring those details to life? 
  • What are the themes? Are they too obvi­ous? Too obscure?  Are they con­sis­tent? Are they clear but not preachy?
  • Is there a satisfying/logical res­o­lu­tion? Why this end­ing? What does it say to the read­er? Is it bor­ing? Or is it the best kind of log­i­cal but unexpected?
REVISION AS SEEING AGAIN

As writ­ers we learn to lis­ten to oth­er read­ers and we lis­ten to our­selves, but the sec­ond part, “see­ing again,” is the process of answer­ing the ques­tions that come up while lis­ten­ing. We active­ly search our man­u­scripts for the bro­ken places, awk­ward spaces, the over­done and under­done descrip­tions. Real revi­sion is NOT sim­ply fix­ing typos and a word here or there (that’s part of copy­edit­ing). On the oth­er hand, some­times tak­ing care of sim­pler changes will guide you toward the big­ger things to fix in the manuscript. 

As you revise, the sto­ry changes lit­tle by lit­tle, some­times you move for­ward, some­times back. Even a short pic­ture book man­u­script can take weeks or months. Revi­sion is frus­trat­ing, it’s hard inter­nal work, and there are days you may think the man­u­script belongs in the garbage; but if you stick with it, every day a theme, a char­ac­ter, or a descrip­tion in the man­u­script grows clear­er. For more on “see­ing again,” author Sarah Aron­son has col­lect­ed all her best posts on revi­sion here.

sculpting clay

Most visu­al artists buy their mate­ri­als: paint, paper, brush­es, or clay. But writ­ers are artists that must make their own mate­ri­als. I think of draft­ing as the messy process of mak­ing our own clay, our own work­ing mate­ri­als. That draft clay comes out lumpy or too dry or too wet, and when we roll it up into a whole piece, it has odd bits stick­ing out. That’s okay. That’s what draft clay is sup­posed to look like! Revi­sion is the knead­ing and sculpt­ing of our word-clay into a stur­dy, beau­ti­ful piece of art that emo­tion­al­ly con­nects to our audience.

revision
REVISION TIPS

When­ev­er teach­ing pic­ture book writ­ing, I share a short series of sim­ple fix­es that encour­age wider revi­sion. Sur­pris­ing­ly, though I’m not all that expe­ri­enced at young adult or mid­dle grade writ­ing, I found myself using these tech­niques even while revis­ing my first long form book for old­er readers.

  1. Read out loud. Read out loud. Read out loud. Then, Read out loud! If it sounds wrong, some­thing is wrong. If you think it might be bor­ing, it is bor­ing. If a sen­tence reads glitchy or awk­ward, any edi­tor on the plan­et will find it.
  2. Show don’t tell. This is a nar­ra­tive tech­nique that is worth its weight — it even has a Wikipedia page! Show­ing is a com­bi­na­tion of action and sen­so­ry descrip­tion that brings read­ers into the sto­ry. Telling is con­vey­ing infor­ma­tion. Here’s a short work­sheet on the difference.
  3. Count the words in your sen­tences and the sen­tences in your para­graphs. Vary. Good writ­ing sounds alive and has authen­tic voice. One of the ways to help encour­age that kind of writ­ing is to make sure you are using sen­tences and para­graphs of vary­ing lengths. You don’t want a para­graph full of sev­en-word sen­tences. You don’t want long para­graphs one after the oth­er. Writ­ing should have per­son­al­i­ty behind it.
  4. Search all word rep­e­ti­tions. Vary (unless a refrain). This is one tip new to many begin­ning authors. We all have writ­ing ticks, words we overuse, etc. Hunt for all the times you say the same word twice or use the same sen­tence con­struc­tion and vary the writ­ing unless it’s a pur­pose­ful repeat.
  5. Search the draft for all the words that end in –ed, ‑ing. And do not rely on “is” verbs or adverbs. Are there ways to make your verbs more active? Can more action be shown not told? What does that action say about the char­ac­ters? Be specific.
  6. Do your verbs relate to your theme? Verbs that mean more than one thing or infer are best. In a recent draft, I used the verb “haunt­ed,” in the men­tal anguish sense (not ghosts) even though the book is about spir­it medi­ums. For a pic­ture book I’ll often write my main theme, for exam­ple: FRIENDSHIP at the top of the revi­sion to make sure I head toward that theme with every change.
  7. Play with writ­ing. Make up words, exper­i­ment with a char­ac­ter, try writ­ing the draft from a minor character’s point of view. Notice how the sto­ry changes and how your feel­ings change when you allow your­self the time to play.
  8. Do not be afraid while revis­ing. If you are afraid of for­get­ting some­thing you’re delet­ing, then save a sep­a­rate file of “out­takes.” You’ll have them if you need them and can con­tin­ue revis­ing with­out wor­ry. (P.S. In 15 years, I’ve nev­er used any­thing from an out­take file…but I still need the secu­ri­ty of hang­ing onto old writ­ing until the book is finished.)

Revi­sion takes prac­tice. It is not a set of skills to learn in a day or a week. It is the heart of the craft of writ­ing and the dis­cov­ery process by which writ­ing improves enough to be pub­lished. If you write, you revise. Over the past two days, I’ve made a few hun­dred changes while revis­ing this one arti­cle you’re read­ing now.

The next arti­cle, our last, will be a sum­ma­ry of this series on pub­lish­ing for edu­ca­tors. Until then, a chal­lenge! Take three para­graphs from your cur­rent work in progress and revise them using at least two of the tech­niques above. What did you dis­cov­er? If you want to share, email me at [email protected]. I’ll be wait­ing to hear from you.

More from this series …

Step #6,  Writ­ing Story

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Jen Bryant
Jen Bryant
6 days ago

The writer/ sculp­tor com­par­i­son is apt! This arti­cle gives both new and vet­er­an authors some great tips. Thank you, Barb!