Editing Lesson Requested

[Ray Dario]

Okay people. I have been inspired by the excellent response to my "Dialog" thread and so I'm going to ask the Guru's of Lit to give of their precious time and knowledge and give us an editing lesson.

Here is what I'm asking: Below is a short excerpt from a story I'm writing. I tried to pick a block of text that would present a plethora of editing opportunities. I would like to see how you would edit it. Not just the what, but also the why, and the how. In other words don't just say, too many adjectives, point out why there are too many adjectives and show us how to see it in our own writing and then show us how to correct it.

I think this could be a fantastic learning tool, not just for myself but for other authors here on the boards. Oh and after my excerpt is suffeciently worked over, feel free to post your own stuff and let the guru's teach us even more.

Okay, on to the stuff to edit.


They ate in cold silence, neither of them able to express their feelings. When she finished her last bite, Andrea started to clear the table.

“I’ll get this. You go on to bed.” Carl’s voice was soft and his eyes held a sadness that tore at her heart.

Why couldn’t she be a better wife? He was so kind, and helpful, and always trying to please her. All she ever did was reject him. She didn’t even know why she did it. It wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy tenderness, or love, or even sex; yet time after time she watched herself turn away from him. Why?

She left the table and got ready for bed. The clock on her nightstand read “8:17pm” in soft green as she climbed into bed and dropped her head onto the pillow. She could hear the light clinking of dishes and the soft hush of water flowing. Carl was cleaning the kitchen. Presently the soft babble of the television drifted through the closed bedroom door and she knew that he was now watching some droll comedy or a sports show. It would only be another hour or so before he came to bed, slipping between the covers and sliding over beside her. He would put his arm around her and gently kiss the back of her neck and she would pretend to be asleep until he gave up. It was a nightly ritual, broken only when he became so frustrated that they fought. Then she would give in to him and they would make wonderful, passionate love.

Those were the nights she loved. She knew he would gladly give his love to her; if only she would allow it. And she longed for the love and tenderness, but each night she refused. And each night she wept in cold loneliness while her loving husband slept beside her.


And thanks in advance to anyone who takes a stab at this.

Ray

 

[MysteryWriter]

I am the wrong one but hell why not

They ate in cold silence, neither of them able to express their feelings. When she finished her last bite, Andrea started to clear the table.

““I’’ll get this. You go on to bed.”” Carl’’s voice was soft. His eyes held a sadness that tore at her heart.

Why couldn’’t she be a better wife? He was so kind, and helpful. He was forever trying to please her. Her response was to reject him.

She didn’’t even know why she did it. It wasn’’t as though she didn’’t enjoy tenderness, or love, or even sex. Time after time she watched herself turn away from him. Why?

She left the table for bed. The clock on her nightstand read ““8:17pm”” in soft green as she dropped her head onto the pillow. She heard the light clinking of dishes and the soft hush of water flowing. Carl was cleaning the kitchen.

Presently the soft babble of the television drifted through the closed bedroom door. She knew that he was watching some droll comedy or sports show. It would only be another hour or so before he came to bed. He would slip between the covers, then slide to her. He would put his arm around her, then gently kiss the back of her neck. As always she would pretend to be asleep until he gave up. It was a nightly ritual. The pattern would be broken only when they fought in frustration. Then she would give in to him. They would then make wonderful, passionate love.

Those were the nights she loved. She knew he would gladly give his love to her; if only she would allow it. And she longed for the love and tenderness. Still each night she refused. And each night she wept in cold loneliness while her loving husband slept beside her.

 

[MysteryWriter]

re reading

Sorry I bet you wanted dialogue added.

 

[Ray Dario]

Okay, MW

Now why did you make the changes you made?

Thanks

Ray

 

[MysteryWriter]

truth is

When I edit I do it by how it sounds to a reader. I didnt on this one, but I usually put them on my mechanical reader. It just seemed to read a little more like a story than like something written for a project. Hard for me to explain it any other way. The other thing is most of the writers here are probably better educated and more serious than the readers. I write like a tv show i guess.

I thought that one paragraph was too long for one thing. And some of the sentances were to complicated to make the reading enjoyable. Unless you were an MBA.

Like I said, I am probably the wrong person to edit anyone else's stuff because I tend to wind up trying to make it like I write. You might have guessed by now I am a little off the wall.

I am sure you will get a better edit from muffin or one of the others. I am more a story teller than a technition.

 

[NaughtyMike]

They ate in cold silence. Neither of them able to express their feelings. When she completed her last bite, Andrea began to clear the table.

“I’ll get this. You go on to bed.” Carl’s voice was soft and his eyes held a sadness that eroded her heart.

Why couldn’t she be a better wife? He was so kind, and helpful, and always trying to please her. All she ever did was reject him. She didn’t even know why she did it. It wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy tenderness, love, or even sex; yet time after time she watched herself turn away from him. Why? Could it be she was use to dating a basketball team, and Carl was just a small white guy? Hmm.

She left the table and got ready for bed. The Lakers’ clock on her nightstand read “8:17pm” in soft green as she climbed into bed and dropped her head onto the pillow. She could hear the light clinking of dishes and the soft hush of water flowing. Carl was cleaning the kitchen. Presently the soft babble of the television drifted through the closed bedroom door and she knew that he was now watching some droll comedy or a sports show or perhaps both. She wondered if there were any basketball games playing. It would only be another hour or so before he came to bed, slipping between the covers and sliding over beside her. He would put his arm around her and gently kiss the back of her neck and she would pretend to be asleep until he gave up. It was a nightly ritual, broken only when he became so frustrated that they fought. Then she would give in to him and they would make wonderful, passionate love as she would think about Kareem, Magic, Wilt, Michael and Coby.

Those were the nights she loved- being a groupie at Madison Square Garden, sneaking into hotel rooms, and blowing the team. She knew he would gladly give his love to her; if only she would allow Mr. Pencil Dick to do it. Moreover, she longed for the love and tenderness, which goes with a good gang fucking. Each night she wept in cold loneliness while her small loving white husband slept beside her, beating off his pencil dick.



Is this more of what you wanted? I made these changes because the story was lame. I could never jerk off to it. Now we have a story that will go somewhere, instead of putting me to sleep. This is great stuff, if your writing for women. Don't think your young male readers will get to far into it.

 

[Ray Dario]

Hmm, Mike, not exactly what I had in mind, but that's the wonderful thing about doing this. Getting all kinds of suggestions that I would have never thought of.

Your changes were ... interesting ... but wouldn't really fit in with the rest of the story outside the excerpt. Thanks, though, you may have just inspired a whole new story

Ray

 

[KillerMuffin]

The cold silence reflected the cold inability to express any feelings. Dinner was always a nuclear wasteland of lost opportunity. When she finished her last bite, Andrea started to clear the table. Your first sentence is from the narrator. Keep it in the character's POV or you reduce your impact.

“I’ll get this. You go on to bed.” His soft voice and sad eyes tore at her heart. She offered a pathetic smile and left anyway. Your first sentence was from him, not from her. You want to keep the emotional wringer on her. I added the last one because I deleted everything you used for transition in another paragraph.

She slid into his old tee shirt and climbed into bed. It was only 8:17, too early to sleep. Through the closed bedroom she could hear the light clinking of dishes and the soft hush of water flowing. His thoughtfulness only pounded on her guilt. The faucet shut off and his footsteps through the house were followed by the soft babble of the television. You were overrun with unnecessary description. You blunted the edge of your emotional sword and gave the reader too much breathing room to keep from squirming right along with her. Description is highly important, but you have to make sure the description doesn't get in the way of your plot. You also went through a mundane list of what he did and what she did. You didn't add any emotional trauma here, so I slipped in a piece. I also whacked your paragraph apart since it was actually two paragraphs. Your description should be sparse, but rich in detail. The detail should put her emotional distance in the reader's mind.

Why couldn’t she be a better wife? He was so kind, and helpful, and he alway tried to please her. All she ever did was reject him. She didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy tenderness and love, or even sex; yet time after time she turned away from him. Why? This paragraph is awkward, but good. I cut out some words to tighten it. I moved this because it felt better here.

It would only be another hour or so before he came to bed, slipping between the covers and sliding over beside her. He would put his arm around her and gently kiss the back of her neck. She would pretend sleep until he gave up. It was a nightly ritual, broken only when he became so frustrated that they fought. Then she would give in to him. Those were the nights she loved. Again, I cut out some excess verbiage. I also altered the feel of the last line. They fought then made sweet wonderful love. Uhm. Okay. If you're going for a romantic feel keep it. I didn't see that. I'm not terribly sure where you're going with it, but "making love" doesn't fit with what I picked up here. The paragraph that I cut out was transition into the next scene, so rather than try to edit it, I cut it since I don't know what's happening next.

When you're done writing the whole story-- NOT BEFORE!!!!-- go through and cut out about 25% of your words cause you don't actually need them.

 

[MysteryWriter]

See RAy,

Told ya rofl

 

[Ray Dario]

KillerMuffin do you teach creative writing somewhere? If not, you should!

I have taken two creative writing classes at our local community college and neither has taught me as much as I learned from your post here!

This is exactly what I was hoping for, although I'm sure you could have come up with 10,000 other things wrong with the excerpt.

Thank you very much.

********

Don't let it end here guys, how about some of you other great editors out there taking a shot.

Thanks

Ray