Much as I’m a pantser for the writing process, I’ve realised that pantsing is no way to revise a novel. In fact, I wanted to use a set process. And while this isn’t anything like as involved or detailed as an 8D (don’t panic, I’m not going to talk you through that just yet), I’ve still implemented a rigorous structure to revising my manuscript this time around.
In order to copy this method, you will need:
- A printed copy of your manuscript, in whichever format suits (I used 2 pages per sheet of A4, single sided).
- A fine-tipped red pen.
- Highlighter(s) of whatever colour(s) you prefer.
- A pack (or more) of coloured index tabs (4 colours is the norm per pack).
- A nice cup of tea is a bonus.
Before I began, I defined my colour code for my index tabs: I had four groups of characters I wanted to follow closely, and so each colour stood for a different group. In theory, you could use as many colour codes as you liked, for whatever aspects of your novel you want to focus on. To be honest, for me, four was plenty.
As I read through my printout, I asked myself a number of questions:
- Is this required – does it add anything?
- Is this in the right place, either in time or space?
- Am I following the right character(s)? Are they consistent throughout the book? Am I head-hopping?
- Does this scene do the right things? Do I avoid info dumps?
- Are there any gaps here? Is there something I’ve missed out?
If one or more of these questions demanded an answer which involved me reworking something, the page in my print-out got an appropriately colour-coded index tab and a scribble in red pen by the margin explaining my particular area of concern. The highlighter came in useful if a whole scene was involved which spanned several pages; that meant I could see which scenes I’d tagged, but I didn’t need to tag them more than once to track them.
As I moved through the manuscript, I also used the red pen to address any typos, other errors or minor wording changes I needed to address. These, though, didn’t merit a coloured tab.
I then decided it was worth a second read-through, in case I’d missed anything. And I had. Nothing major, but there were a few things I picked up on, and questions I asked myself, which had escaped me the first time. So more coloured tabs got added, and notes scribbled in margins. I have to admit that I also changed my mind about a few things I’d thought needed amending first time round. If I was at all uncertain, I left the tab in.
Finally, I went through and numbered every single index tab consecutively, starting from 1 at the beginning of the book. I then wrote the number, and a description of what needed revising, in a notebook. So, I had a list of what needed revising, colour coded by area, and organised chronologically throughout the book.
This was useful on a number of levels. I had an overview of my entire manuscript. I had a detailed list of revisions, and where they were required. And, most importantly for me, I could actually quantify and track my progress in making the required revisions.
Nothing saps my motivation more than feeling like I’m facing a large, immeasurable and unquantifiable task. Which in some ways, this book has resembled for far too long.
Knowing what gaps I needed to fill meant I could get to work on writing them; knowing what things I’d missed, or not explained well, meant I could get to work on clarifying them. Knowing what scenes were around them, and where it slotted in the timeline, gave me my boundaries to work within.
I don’t know if this is unique to me, or if other writers do this, but I seem to have a split approach to writing. There’s the pure joy of creating, of letting Bob the plot bunny* roam wide and free, of discovering the story and the characters and exploring it by the seat of the pants. Then, there’s the task of taking the story and making it orderly, making it solid, and making it readable and coherent, by letting my OCD streak loose.
I’m definitely in the latter phase, but although it’s harder work, it’s somehow more satisfying. A large part of that is being able to cross items off the list as having been completed; to know that much as I don’t feel like it sometimes, I am making progress towards getting this book finished. That’s a scary, weird, and exciting thought.
Funnily, I’m finding I can keep reading fiction this time around, and if anything, I’m finding that helpful. It’s hard to proofread fiction sometimes when I’m stuck in my work writing mode: engineering reports have very different requirements to fiction. Aerospace customers don’t like surprise endings, and they certainly don’t like it if you obscure information or lead them astray with red herrings. And readers of fiction don’t like it if you explain in great detail beforehand everything that’s going to happen in the book. Work reports need everything spelled out; novels don’t, at least, not right at the beginning.
Once I’ve done this bit, I expect I’ll print it out and repeat the process again. I’ll also put it out there for my faithful friends to read and comment on (particularly ones who read the first draft). So there may be yet more revisions still to come.
And then, maybe, this book might be finished …
*As outed on Twitter. I feel rather insane, but somehow I now can’t think of plot bunnies without thinking I have a specific one called Bob!
