Revision frustration.

I was feeling great about revisions until about 7 o'clock last night.  I'd put in twelve hours for the day and had moved on to "That Section I Needed to Condense."  It was my hope and expectation that I'd finish it before bed so I could move on to the last two items on my list.

And then.  I read my new version and discovered that even though it's about two pages shorter than before, it actually feels longer.  Somehow, I edited all the tension right out of it. 

On the surface, the scene is simple, but it sets up a lot of drama.  It shows Seth interacting with all the major players in some capacity.  We have the red herring deal with old Whats-his-name, two mini confrontations that will become bigger in the pages to come, an encounter that causes a huge misunderstanding for many of the other characters, which in turn, contributes to every single thing falling apart for our hero.

So, yeah.  It's an important set of scenes.  And now it sucks.  

I never actually had a big problem with it as it was written before.  But Agent said this:  

The bowling alley scene really seemed to lag for me. It’s the eye of the storm—Seth is now [doing something], but the later issues haven’t come up yet, so it just sort of hangs there. I think you can tighten this and up the pacing a bit to propel us into the final act.

I took a look at it after that and thought, Yeah.  I guess I can see that.  Seth does spend a long time searching and wondering and stressing.  

I made him stop doing that in the new version.  And now it's like he's feeling nothing much at all.  I'm thinking I should maybe write an entirely new scene.  Move it to a new location.  Give Seth (and all of those other characters) a better reason for being there.  Right now, he finds out pretty quickly that the thing he's there for isn't going to happen and then he has no new goal except to leave. 

But what if I'm being too knee-jerky with a major overhaul? Every other change I've suggested to Agent has resulted in him saying, "No, I like the way you have it now.  I don't think you need to change it."  Maybe he has a particular fondness for the bowling alley itself, just not the length of it.  I don't want to make things worse! 

Sigh!!!!!! 

Revising.

I've been working on my revisions off and on for the past two weeks.  Not with as much diligence as I would have hoped for, but it's been quite a transition trying to finish other obligations and get back to my old writing schedule.  I printed out the list of suggestions and have kept them on my desk while I'm working.  There were only 1.5 pages (ten items), and I've been checking things off as I finish.  I'm finally down to the last three items.  Which is great! 

One of the three will require writing a brand-new scene, and another will require ripping apart and condensing an eleven-page section.  I intentionally left these for last because of how they happen chronologically on the list and in the story, but also because they are the hardest. 

I have plans.  I've been pondering how to handle these pieces since I received the notes.  It's still kind of scary, though.  Maybe because the last time I wrote a new scene for this story was OVER A YEAR AGO.  (Since then, I've just been adding or deleting the occasional sentence or paragraph.)

J?

Does it mean something in particular when emails have capital-letter "J"s that appear seemingly randomly?

For example: 

I think it does lend a sense of closure. And you got thrown in a pool for it! J I definitely believe it works as is...

Is this a typo?  An email glitch thingy?  Or...? 

I ask this because I've exchanged several emails with this person.  And not all, but many of the notes have a random "J."

"Say my name, [bitca]!"

I'm redoing my first chapter, as you might know.  One thing someone suggested to me a few months ago is that readers should find out the main character's name immediately so they will know exactly who they're rooting for.  I'm not sure I think it's necessary, but it probably couldn't hurt, right?

As it is now, someone says his name on page four.  ("Hey, Seth.")  The person who made the suggestion thought it should have come sooner.

For this first attempt, I was going to try have the main character say it himself in narrative or even dialogue.  "Yeah, that's me:  Seth McCoy, nervous old lady impersonator." 

Can you say AWKWARD in context?  I don't see him talking about himself like that.  I mean, the remark is Seth-like enough, but he wouldn't name drop himself.

So, scratch that.

I thought a better idea might be to have another character say it.  "Seth, you bring all of this on yourself, you know."

Easy enough, right?  The problem is that the only character who appears with Seth for the first two pages is Daniel.  Daniel exclusively refers to Seth as "Dick" throughout the story, which readers will learn on the fourth page. 

I don't want to muddle things up by having readers think the narrator's name is "Dick" until they learn otherwise on page four.  (Or, I don't know.  Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing ever.)  I don't want to include the Dick-nickname-explanation sentence on my first page.  And I especially don't want Daniel to call him "Seth" on the first page because he never calls him "Seth."  Ever.  It's "Dick" or "Dude" or nothing.

What do you think about this?  Do you find yourself making a special attempt to include your protagonist's name on the first or second page?  Or is all this just crazy-talk?

It's the truth.

There are exactly three people (to my knowledge) who have read the most recent version of my manuscript. I am not one of them.

It's true!  When I revised in December, I went through and changed things for the specific subplot I was reworking.  And I tweaked a couple of other tiny things.   Afterward, I read each of the scenes that I'd worked on, but I never did read the whole draft all in order.  I was to the point where I'd been querying the ms for seven months and couldn't stand to look at the thing again.  This "final" revision was my last-ditch effort at trying to get an agent before throwing it and myself into a pit of despair.

As it turned out, an agent and her assistant read this version and asked for revisions.  A second agent (who was the third person then) read it and offered representation. 

I've started revisions for my agent now without so much as looking at that draft.  I'm just plowing forward. (Although I do intend to read the whole thing straight through before I send it back to him.) 

I've never told him this (and perhaps never will), but it amuses and pleases me that he read and fell in love with a version of my work that I am unlikely to ever experience for myself!