Admit it: the one on the right looks way more interesting!

Something which you may have heard about, and which most authors fall victim to at some point in their writing, is the “Mary Sue” effect. This is a term used to describe when an author inserts a character into their work that they wish they could be. Usually it’s an idealized, impossibly attractive person who also happens to be brilliant and talented. This character typically lacks significant flaws, and while they may appeal to the author (for whom they are often acting as a surrogate), they’re rarely very compelling to readers.

I have by no means moved beyond this problem, though I’ve gotten better at identifying when I’m moving in that direction and working my way out of it. More and more I find myself putting together notes on my characters before I ever begin writing, in the hopes of avoiding the situation in the first place. One of the things I try to do with characters, especially major ones, is identify a trait or two that they possess that might not be considered desirable by most people.

As an example of what not to do, let’s take John Storm in my novella Voices. This is one of my oldest characters, originally created before my teens, and even in his present incarnation he suffers rather heavily from Mary Sue syndrome. He’s tall, fit and handsome, confident and caring, and frankly he seems to have his shit together far more than many twenty-five year-olds living in New York. Not super realistic to begin with … and this is a guy who supposedly spent the last decade or so thinking he was suffering from paranoid schizophrenia and convinced he was crazy!

John does have a few flaws — overconfidence and a tendency to act without thinking among them — but he’s a bit too perfect for his own good. I don’t think this kills his character (reaction to Voices has overall been quite favorable), but of the four main characters in the book, it makes him by far the least compelling. Brian, Kevin, and particularly Jen are all far more interesting, in part because they have more flaws which they need to work to overcome.

In the real world, we’re all flawed, and readers will relate even on a subconscious level to a character who has to deal with this fact. In Voices, Jen is really struggling. At the start of the story, she’s on the far opposite spectrum of John: so flawed that she may initially seem abrasive to the reader. She’s a homeless alcoholic with a bad attitude who pushes hard against John’s attempts to help her. Even as her character evolves, the rough edges remain; Jen will always be stubborn, judgmental and quick to anger. It will always be an effort for her to let people in and let them get close. These traits, and the reasons for them, make her a more compelling character than John. As a side benefit, they also allow for some fun dialog, and some interesting plot points. Win-win!

Next time you’re coming up with characters for a story, try this exercise: write down their name on a sheet of paper (or a text editor), and then start listing words you think people would use to describe that person. If the descriptive list is coming up more than 80% positive, consider specifically adding some character flaws, physical flaws, or both. It may hurt a little to do it, but your characters and your writing will be better for it.

Seek out smart, thoughtful readers who will take notes on your work.

Believe it or not, one of the most difficult aspects of writing a book is getting honest feedback on your early drafts. Finding readers can be a difficult task in the first place, and even if you’re lucky enough to have achieved a level of popularity which simplifies that aspect, you’re still faced with the daunting task of weeding out the ones who can give you the criticism and critique that is so vital to redrafting (a process which I covered in my last blog entry). When you find someone who can give that kind of feedback — what I call a trusted reader — it’s like striking gold.

Over the years I’ve been fortunate enough to cultivate a small but incredibly valuable group of trusted readers who I know will deliver honest, specific, unbiased feedback on early drafts of my work. This group includes a few old friends, a professional editor whose services I periodically employ, a select few internet friends, and my brilliant wife (who pulls no punches!). I am highly appreciative of all of these folks, and I place an extraordinary amount of value on my relationships with them. Quite simply: without their input, my work would suck.

When trusted readers give feedback, it’s the type of response that delves well beyond “I loved it” or “I hated it” (or even worse: dead silence). The Blood That Bonds has earned enough fans at this point that I could quickly put together a group of readers for subsequent projects, but not all of them would be able to provide the feedback I need. Make no mistake: I’m very glad that they’re out there! I love hearing from people who enjoy my work, and the rush of receiving an “I loved your book!” email has yet to wear off. I’m not sure it’s ever going to.

I’m just not always looking for that rush. In particular, when I’ve finished a first or even second draft, what I’m looking for is criticism. Hard, heavy criticism. Criticism that hurts, that makes me want to get defensive and start justifying my choices. Criticism that leaves me thinking, “Jesus … I guess I shouldn’t quit my day job just yet.” Not every reader is able to give that kind of criticism. A lot of readers don’t want to give that kind of criticism; they just want to enjoy the story!

The thing is: nothing gets better without criticism. This is why identifying and appreciating trusted readers is so vital to any author’s work. I’m not going to pretend that The Blood That Bonds is a work of high literary art, but it’s a hell of a lot better in its finished version than it was as a first draft. My friends Caryn and Josh pointed out glaring issues with that draft which required major rewrites in the second draft. My editor Lauren went over draft two with a critical eye, pointing out not only myriad typos and grammar errors, but also giving her input on plot, pacing, and characterization. These opinions were all invaluable.

I’m currently in the middle of a feedback round on two different books: The Broken God Machine (first draft) and Blood Hunt (second draft). In the case of the former, I’ve sent it out only to the specific few people mentioned above. In the case of the latter, I’m trying something new: in addition to sending it to my trusted readers, I held a contest and picked ten readers who said they wanted to read it and fill out a brief questionnaire once done. I’ve already received five responses, and all five have provided useful information! I may well consider using some or all of them as trusted readers on future  projects. If you have existing fans, and aren’t terrified that they’ll leak your manuscript, I recommend giving something like this a shot.

Of course I can’t (and won’t) change every aspect of a book to suit the whims of everyone who comments on it. In the end, it’s my story, and certain plot details and character actions are set in stone. What I will do though is seriously consider everything they have to say, especially if more than one or two of the readers identify the same specific problem. Yes, it’s my book, but if some aspect of it’s not working for people, then that part probably needs to be either rethought, or rewritten to better accomplish whatever the goal was. This is the kind of invaluable information that can help you transform a rough first draft into a solid second draft, or take that second draft and build a polished manuscript that’s ready to be submitted to agents, editors, or publishers.

If you’re a writer, you need trusted readers. Without them, you’re going to have a very difficult time getting any kind of objective opinion on your drafts, and without those opinions, your work will never be as good as it could be. If you’re a reader, don’t be afraid to engage an author on a level beyond “I really enjoyed your book” … sending a thoughtful email with real critique in it might just land you the chance for an early look at new work. You’d be surprised how many talented authors, even ones who’ve been published before, are still actively looking for quality readers.

"Great job finishing your novel! Did you mean to spell your protagonist's name wrong in half of it?"

Behold: A Novel

You’ve finished it. Finally. After countless long nights fretting over your words, manipulating each sentence for maximum effect, and imbuing every paragraph with depth and symbolism, your journey is at last complete. Your novel is done. You set it aside (virtually, if you’ve been working on a word processor) and walk away, content with the knowledge that you’ve brought forth this thing into the world. Where once there was nothing, now there is something, and it’s there because you created it.

In the heady days that follow, you tell everyone you know that you finished your novel. You’re a proud parent, and you don’t even have to get up in the middle of the night or change messy diapers! It’s an amazing thing, really, and one about which many people dream. You want the world to know exactly how great it feels.

Time passes. The days come and go, and you begin to get the itch to take a second look, to bask in the glory of your novel and remember all the good times you had writing it. You yearn to once again be devastated by your dialog, pleased by your pacing, captivated by your characters … awed by your alliteration. Eventually you can’t wait any longer, and you settle in one evening and give it a read.

To your horror, you discover that the unthinkable has happened: while you weren’t looking, someone went and switched your perfect, beautiful baby with some kind of ugly, wart-riddled troglodyte. This isn’t yours! Can’t be. There’s no way you would have ended that sentence with a preposition. No chance you would have missed that obvious fragment. It is utterly inconceivable that you would have completely forgotten one of your characters mid-way through the book.

Yet that’s what you’re seeing now, and the grim realization begins to dawn on you: you’re not finished. You’re not even close. It’s time to roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty again. It’s time to redraft.

Reasons to Redraft

For many authors, redrafting holds neither the mystique nor the excitement that they found in the initial act of creation; it’s just simply not as fun. For others, it’s quite painful to admit to themselves and to others that their perfect baby was never really so perfect to begin with. Some writers go into a permanent state of denial and never touch their first drafts again. If that sounds like you, keep this in mind: few of these writers ever get published.

If you want to be a professional author, you should prepare to write multiple drafts on every project. It’s a necessary step in the process, and once you’ve done it a few times, you may come to enjoy it for its own sake. There are many very good reasons to do it, and here are my top three:

1. To clean up obvious structural errors, typos, misspellings, and the like.
2. To improve the clarity, readability, and flow of the text.
3. To excise things that don’t work, improve things that only kind-of work, and occasionally to add or remove entire sections in the service of making a better book, story, article, or other piece.

Microsoft Word and other text-editors have helped a lot with item number one. Oh, don’t get me wrong — any editor worth his or her salt will tell you that there are still plenty of typos and misspellings left to fix no matter have many drafts an author has done. But spelling and grammar syntax-highlighting, auto-correct features and the like have made it much easier for the author to catch a lot of mistakes as they’re made. Still, every redraft should be done with an eye toward fixing these kind of errors.

Numbers two and three are where it starts to get complicated. Text tweaking and improvement can involve everything from simply switching the order of a couple of words, to making minor tweaks in a sentence, to striking and rewriting entire paragraphs. The goal? Making a better book — not for you, but for the reader. Let’s face it, if you’re writing for you and you alone, then it doesn’t matter so much how ugly your baby is.

Text Revisions

Text revisions are often relatively mild. Sometimes a few sentences just need tightening up. Let’s take a look at some text from the first draft of my novel The Broken God Machine, with some anticipated edits marked in red:

There was no time to celebrate this victory. Pehr turned ready to help Josep, only to see the hunter take a slashing hit to his midsection from the Lagos’s metal blade. Josep screamed and stumbled, going to one knee, and Pehr began to run toward the combatants already knowing he was too late. The Lagos, roaring in triumph, raised the blade over his head to swing down, just as Pehr had done to its companion. The blow would surely kill Josep, and Pehr found himself screaming in rage. Not now. Not yet. Not before they saved Nani.

Note: The red text in this instance is used for illustrative purposes. I don’t usually go through and do this with my drafts. I prefer to just keep a copy of the first draft open on one side of my monitor, and re-type the second draft from scratch on the other.

As you can see, a huge chunk of the text is going to get some amount of adjustment. This doesn’t mean it’s all going away or even changing substantially. Here’s how the edit looks:

There was no time to celebrate this victory. Pehr turned to help Josep, only to see the Lagos warrior’s metal blade slash across the hunter’s midsection. Josep screamed and stumbled, falling to one knee. The creature roared in triumph, raising the blade over its head for the killing blow. Pehr found himself running forward, shouting, knowing he was too late. Not now! he thought. Not yet. Not before we save Nani!

These aren’t earth-shattering changes, here. I’ve just gone in and altered the text so it’s a bit shorter, and flows a bit better. This, along with the basic spelling/typo checking mentioned above, is what agents and editors mean when they say they want a manuscript to be “polished” before they receive it. Polish can mean the difference between an accepted manuscript and one that gets rejected, so it’s certainly worth spending your time on!

The Big Changes

When it comes to excising or altering big chunks of text, it’s a lot harder to provide an example within the scope of this blog! I can tell you that in the first draft of Blood Hunt, I was unhappy with the way the relationship between two key characters played out over the course of things. One of my primary goals for the second draft was “get these two people to behave the way I want them to” (it’s funny, sometimes, how little control we have over our characters, especially in early drafts).

I ended up cutting out almost a dozen scenes — more than five thousand words — and creating two entire chapters that never existed in the first draft, in order to achieve what I wanted. It was a time-consuming and at times difficult process, but the end result is definitely superior. Of course, all of that new text now needs its own second draft! Fortunately, most of the rest of the novel has already been through one round of polishing.

If your first draft is a road map, then big changes are like cutting holes out of it. Before you start in on them, you should spend some time considering what it is you’re hoping to accomplish with the redraft, and have a solid idea for your new route in your head. It’s not enough to just start writing and hope for the best (sometimes that’s not even enough for the first draft). Identify your problem areas, and then identify solutions to those problems. Figure out how you’re going to get where you’re going.

Embrace the Process

Redrafting has to happen. No professional author out there, not matter how talented, can consistently produce pieces of any length that don’t need to go through multiple drafts. This very article was redrafted several times, piece by piece, in the hopes of making it clearer and more concise.

The key to preventing the process from becoming a boring slog is to focus on appreciating what you’re doing. After all, part of the joy of writing is finding just the right way to say what you’re trying to say. There is as much craft involved in honing a sentence as there is in coming up with the sentence in the first place.

Think of it as your chance to build the six million-dollar baby. It’s still your creation, still your beautiful child, still the thing to which you gave birth. It’s just bigger, faster, smoother, stronger and better than what was there before.

We redraft because we must, but there’s no reason not to enjoy the process, and there’s no reason to be afraid of it either. Get in there, get your hands dirty, and polish your work. You’ll be glad you did.