Revision And Self-Editing Read online

  These are guidelines. In the hands of a good writer, a gripping first chapter, followed by a compelling flashback, can work—see the first two chapters of Lee Child's Persuader for an example.

  If you've decided a flashback scene is necessary, make sure it works as a scene—immediate, confrontational. Write it as a unit of dramatic action, not as an information dump. Not:

  Jack remembered when he was a child, and he spilled the gasoline on the ground. His father got so angry at him it scared Jack. His father hit him, and yelled at him. It was something Jack would never forget... [and more of the same]

  Instead:

  Jack couldn't help remembering the gas can. He was eight, and all he wanted to do was play with it.

  The garage was his theater. No one was home. He held the can aloft, like the hammer of Thor. "I am the king of gas!" he said. "I will set you all on fire!"

  Jack stared down at the imaginary humans below his feet. The gas can slipped from his hand.

  Unable to catch it, Jack could only watch as the can made a horrible thunking sound. Its contents poured out on the new cement.

  Jack righted the can, but it was too late. A big, smelly puddle was right in the middle of the garage. Dad is going to kill me!

  Desperate, Jack looked around for a rag, anything to clean up the mess.

  He heard the garage door open. Dad was home.

  You get the idea. A well-written flashback scene will not detract from your story. Readers are used to novels cutting away from one scene to another. They will accept a cut to a flashback if it's written with dramatic flair.

  Getting In and Out

  How do you get in and out of a flashback so it flows naturally? Here's one way that works every time.

  In the scene you're writing, when you're about to go to flashback, put in a sensory detail that triggers the memory in the point-of-view character:

  Wendy looked at the wall and saw an ugly, black spider making its way up toward a web where a fly was caught. Legs creeping, moving slowly toward its prey. The way Lester had moved on Wendy all those years ago.

  She was sixteen and Lester was the big man on campus. "Hey," he called to her one day by the lockers. "You want to go see a movie?"

  We are in the flashback. Write it out as a dramatic scene.

  How do we get out of it? By returning to the sensory detail (sight, in this case). The reader will remember the strong detail and know he's out of flashback.

  Lester made his move in the back of the car. Wendy was helpless. It was all over in five minutes.

  The spider was at the web now. Wendy felt waves of nausea as she watched it. But she could not look away.

  Watch Out for "Had"

  Watch out for the word had in your flashback scenes. Use one or two to get in, but once in, avoid them. Instead of:

  Marvin had been good at basketball. He had tried out for the team, and the coach had said how good he was.

  "I think I'll make you my starting point guard," Coach had told him right after tryouts.

  Marvin had been thrilled by that.

  Do this:

  Marvin had been good at basketball. He tried out for the team, and the coach said how good he was.

  "I think I'll make you my starting point guard," Coach told him right after tryouts.

  Marvin was thrilled.

  Flashback Scene Alternative

  An alternative to the flashback scene is the back flash. These are short bursts in which you drop information about the past within a present moment scene. The two primary methods are dialogue and thoughts. First, dialogue:

  "Hey, don't I know you?" "No."

  "Yeah, yeah. You were in the newspapers, what, ten years ago? The kid who killed his parents in that cabin."

  "You're wrong."

  "Chester A. Arthur! You were named after the president. I remember that in the story."

  Chester's troubled background has come out in a flash of dialogue. This is also a good way for shocking information from the past, or a dark secret, to be revealed at a tense moment in the story. Now, thoughts:

  "Hey, don't I know you?"

  "No." Did he? Did the guy recognize him? Would everybody in town find out he was Chet Arthur, killer of parents?

  "Yeah, yeah. You were in the newspapers, what, ten years ago?" It was twelve years ago, and this guy had him pegged. Lousy press, saying he killed his parents because he was high on drugs. They didn't care about the abuse, did they? And this guy wouldn't, either.

  We are in Chester's head for this one, as he reflects on his past. If you want to do a full flashback scene, thoughts can also operate as a transition point.

  The skillful handling of flashback material is one mark of a good writer. Using back flashes as an alternative is usually the mark of a wise writer.

  KEY POINTS

  • Scenes are the building blocks of fiction. Make each one count.

  • An action scene needs a viewpoint character with an objective and obstacles.

  • A reaction scene (or beat) needs a viewpoint character reacting emotionally, analyzing the situation, and making a decision on what to do next to gain his objective.

  • Setup and spice should be used sparingly, and placed within real scenes.

  • Open your scenes in medias res. Use a variety of styles.

  • End most of your scenes with things getting tougher for the Lead.

  • Use summary for transitions and setup.

  • Flashbacks should be as compelling as any scene.

  In the following scene, underline: (a) the POV character, (2) his objective, (3) the opposition, and (4) the outcome.

  When the sun came up, Sam thought about driving over to Roz's and getting Heather himself. His wife talked him out of it, and he knew she was right. This thing needed some natural flow.

  Besides, with no sleep, he couldn't be sure he'd be rational or understanding. He might end up chasing a dog down the street, or biting a mailman.

  So he went into the office. But working was like slogging up a muddy hill in ankle weights. Sam tried to clear out the brain cobwebs with a triple latte, but after the early morning run in with Heather, anything he tried to concentrate on was a boulder he could barely move. Call me Sisyphus.

  There was one thing he decided, though, and there was no going back in his mind. He finished his coffee and went to Lew's office.

  "Hey, what's up, pard?" Lew was twiddling a pencil in his right hand as he tapped at his keyboard with the other.

  "I can't do it, Lew."

  "Do what?"

  "Give up on Harper. I'm taking it all the way."

  Lew threw the pencil 011 the desk. "That's disappointing."

  "I'm sorry. That's just the way it's going to be."

  "Just like that?"

  "I've been thinking about this a long time."

  "So we don't make decisions together anymore?"

  "You wanted to take the decision away from me, Lew. You made the pronouncement that it was up to me, but you didn't really want me to stay on this case. But I took it on, and it's my obligation as a lawyer—"

  "Will you stop with the law school ethics? You're not a One-L."

  "I happen to believe in what I'm doing."

  Lew shook his head. "I'm not pleased. But I think you already knew I wouldn't be." He was silent for a moment. "Alright. Do what you have to do. But we are not waiving our fee. Now get out of here and go do some work, will you?"

  Work. Yes. Sam would do what he always had in the past—work his tail off. He was never the smartest one in his class at law school, he knew that. But he made sure nobody would outwork him, and nobody did.

  He was going to work at getting his daughter back, getting justice for Sarah Harper, and making life come out even again. Raw effort, that would do it.

  See what you can do to add a hook to the following scene opening:

  It was cold that Monday. The weatherman had reported it. He said it was going to be cold, very cold. John had watched the report
in the morning, sipping his coffee. He knew it was going to be one of the coldest Mondays on record.

  He took care to get dressed warmly. He put silks on under his clothes. He made sure there was an extra layer over them, too. He didn't want to be cold.

  It was cold in the garage. When he opened the door to the garage he was hit with it. He knew this was going to be one cold day, all right.

  He got in the car, started it, used the garage door opener to open the garage door. He waited until it was all the way open, then he started to back out.

  John reached down to turn on the heater but kept going. Then he felt the bump. And heard the scream. He stopped the car and jumped out.

  The old man lay motionless on the driveway. ^

  o

  "No," John said. "Don't be dead. Please don't be dead." £

  71 C n

  c a,

  [ DIALOGUE ]

  Here's a little secret: Dialogue is the fastest way to improve your fiction.

  That's right.

  Because sodden, overwritten dialogue sticks out of a manuscript like a garrulous uncle at Thanksgiving.

  But if you put crisp dialogue in your characters' mouths it will make your manuscript look more professional. Immediately.

  In most of the manuscripts I read from new writers, the dialogue is clunky. It doesn't sound realistic. When it does sound realistic, it is often because the dialogue is an attempt to be real-life speech without fictional purpose, and that doesn't work either.

  Sometimes there are too many attributions or adverbs. Sometimes there is too much "happy talk," dialogue without tension or conflict.

  The dialogue itself may be too "puffy." There are words in the dialogue that could be cut, contributing to dynamism and readability.

  The solutions to these various problems are not difficult to understand or apply. And if you practice them, you will easily make your manuscript sharper. This will be noticed.

  It will help you enormously to understand that dialogue in fiction is just another form of character action.

  Speech is physical. Characters speak. When they speak, it should be because they are trying to further their agendas in a given scene.

  Dialogue in fiction is not space filler, as it often is for us. It is not a way to kill time. If you think of dialogue as action, you'll avoid elementary mistakes.

  THE 8 ESSENTIALS OF GREAT DIALOGUE

  Every dialogue exchange in your novel must be intentional. You need to know why you're writing it. The following essentials will enable you to assess any line of dialogue you write from now on.

  l] It Is Essential to the Story

  If dialogue isn't essential to your story, why is it in there?

  Dialogue must do one of three things, not mutually exclusive: Advance plot, reveal character, and reflect theme.

  To advance the plot, dialogue needs to give us essential story informa-tion. It needs to give us exposition, or background, or help us understand what's going on in a scene:

  "Bill," Shelia said. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in Baltimore."

  "We have some unfinished business, sweetheart."

  We know from the above that Bill was supposed to be in Baltimore, at least as far as Shelia is concerned. Also, that he has something on his mind that doesn't sound particularly nice.

  Dialogue also fills its essential role when it helps reveal character and character relationships. In The Maltese Falcon, Sam Spade, private detective, talks in a clipped manner. The dandy, Joel Cairo, has a more refined way of speaking:

  Spade said: "Let's go some place where we can talk."

  Cairo raised his chin. "Please excuse me," he said. "Our conversations in private have not been such that I am anxious to continue them."

  We can tell a lot just by listening to how people speak.

  Dialogue can also illuminate theme, so long as you're not heavy-handed about it. What is the theme of The Maltese Falcon? Greed and lies and the power of money. Yes, all these, but for Sam Spade, what is it? It is that he will not be played for a sap. To do that would be losing all self-respect and the ability to go on as a man and detective. The theme is that only a personal code, clung to, can save a man from self-destruction.

  She put a hand on his hand on her shoulder. "Don't help me then," she whispered, "but don't hurt me. Let me go away now."

  "No," he said. "I'm sunk if I haven't got you to hand over to the police when they come. That's the only thing that can keep me from going down with the others." "You won't do that for me?" "I won't play the sap for you."

  Not even for love:

  "... Now on the other side we've got what? All we've got is the fact that maybe you love me and maybe I love you."

  "You know," she whispered, "whether you do or not." "I don't. It's easy enough to be nuts about you." He looked hungrily from her hair to her feet and up to her eyes again. "But I don't know what that amounts to. Does anybody ever? But suppose I do? What of it? Maybe next month I won't. I've been through it before—when it lasted that long. Then what? Then I'll think I played the sap...."

  In Lawrence Block's short story "A Candle for the Bag Lady," Matt Scudder interviews the manager of the low-rent tenement where the victim, Mary Alice Redfield, lived. The manager, an old woman named Mrs. Larkin, reflects,

  "I got used to having her about. I might say Hello and Good morning and Isn't it a nice day and not get a look in reply, but even on those days she was someone familiar to say something to. And she's gone now and we're all of us older, aren't we?" "We are."

  "The poor old thing. How could anyone do it, will you tell me that? How could anyone murder her?"

  I don't think she expected an answer. Just as well. I didn't have one.

  2] It Comes From One Character to Another Character

  Imagine the following scene: A woman, Mary, has come home from visiting her husband in the hospital. She plans to go back in an hour. As she sits down with a cup of coffee, trying to control her emotions, there is a knock at the door. She answers.

  Ted stood there.

  "Oh hello, Ted, our family doctor from Baltimore," Mary said. "Please come in."

  Ted walked through the door.

  "Mary," Ted said, "I'm so glad you were at home here on Mockingbird Lane."

  "I am too, Ted. I am comforted that you're here. Having a doctor who is six feet, four inches and in good shape, but even better knows what he's talking about, is a wonderful thing for a forty-year-old woman in crisis to have visit her."

  Here's the good news: I am certain none of you will ever write dialogue that had. But you must be aware of writing this way more subtly.

  What's happening here is the author is slipping information to the reader (really, in the excerpt, knocking the reader over the head!). Dialogue can be an excellent way to impart information, but it must be done in a way that doesn't violate this rule: Fictional dialogue must truly be from one character to another and not be seen as a blatant attempt to give information. See Dialogue Tool #7, on page 110.

  3] It Has Conflict or Tension

  All dialogue should contain tension or conflict.

  Let me repeat: All dialogue should contain tension or conflict. Now wait, you may be thinking. What about dialogue between a husband and wife who have a happy marriage? Or two friends sitting down over lunch to discuss the day? Or simply two people who are on the same side in the story? Are you telling me such dialogue should have tension or conflict? Yes.

  Let's use Hitchcock's axiom here: Great dialogue has the dull parts taken out. No tension or conflict = dull.

  Your Lead should be dealing with change, threat, or challenge from the get-go. At the very least, then, whenever she is in dialogue with another character, that inner tension is present.

  Tension and conflict can be modulated for any effect. Imagine Mary in our previous scene. This time she's having coffee with her neighbor, Babs, at the kitchen table. Mary's husband, Frank, is still in the hospital. Here is one way the scene might go
:

  "How is that new toaster working for you?" Babs asked.

  "Oh, it's marvelous," Mary said. "I'm really glad I got this one. It's at Target, on sale."

  "Really? I may just have to get one for myself." "Do. You'll love it. You'll absolutely love it." Babs took a sip of her coffee. "Mm, this is good. What blend?" "French Roast." "I adore French Roast." "Me, too."

  Blah, blah, blah. The dialogue may also go something like this:

  "How is that new toaster working for you?" Babs asked. "Hm?"

  "The toaster. How's it working?"

  "It toasts."

  "Yes?"

  "Yes. It toasts."

  "I didn't mean to-"

  "What do you think it does?"

  Babs took a sip of her coffee. They sat in silence for a long moment.

  4] It Sounds Just Right for the Piece

  Sometimes I encounter a writer who wants to show off in dialogue by putting in some character talk that jumps off the page and says Listen to me! I'm brilliant dialogue!

  That means the dialogue doesn't go with the overall tone of the narrative. It pulls us out of the story rather than keeps us in it.

  Make it your goal not to show off, but simply to show. Period. This doesn't mean your dialogue can't, at times, be memorable. (See Dialogue Tool #9, on page 113.)

  In Robert B. Parker's Double Play, ex-Marine and World War II vet Joseph Burke meets another Marine named Anthony in a bar:

  "You're a strong guy," Anthony said. "How 'bout you be a fighter. My brother Angelo could fix you up with some easy fights." "How easy?"

  "Easy enough to win," Anthony said. "These guys going in the tank?" "Sure." "And?"

  "And we build you a rep," Anthony said. "And?"

  "And we get you couple big money fights, and maybe me and Angelo bet some side money and ..."

  The terse dialogue fits the mood of two tough ex-Marines talking about fighting. The single-word sentences are like jabs, and the last line is a small flurry.

  Compare that to Robin Lee Hatcher's The Victory Club, a story that takes place on the home front during World War II. Grocer Howard Baxter befriends Lucy Anderson, whose husband is fighting overseas.

  "A penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Anderson."

  A flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks. "I was just feeling envious. Of Mrs. Wright and her car. It's been so long since I've gone anywhere except on foot or by bus. I'd love to just get into a car and take a drive."