Many beginner writers think that “editing” means running spell check, grammar check, changing a few words, and then calling it a day.
But that couldn’t be further from the truth!
Editing is a long, long road paved with blood, tears and sweat.
During the last stream, viewer capricy submitted their story to be revised by the Story Surgeon. They’d written their first draft of an elementary school play and wanted to take it to the next level.
This story was an excellent example of a first draft that many people might think is a final draft. There’s no spelling/grammar mistakes, it has a solid beginning/middle/end, it has good characters with personalities, what more could it need?
The answer is it needs the same two things that all first drafts need: (1) cleaning up by figuring out what the story is about, bringing that to the forefront, and cutting away everything else, and (2) making it more fun by making the tone stronger and the text itself more exciting.
We went over a lot that you can use for your own editing.
Watch the process that we used here!
After that, chat voted that we write this prompt: “Your main character is up for a big promotion within their company. They’ve put everything on hold for it – including their love life. But when an outsider is hired instead, they lose it, focusing all their energy on bringing this newcomer down. They just didn’t think about the fact that they might end up liking them.”
Here’s what we came up with:
I’d tried everything and he just wouldn’t quit. Ever since Tom—the stupid coke bottle glasses-wearing, long-blond hair bro—swooped in and stole the position I was supposed to get, the promotion I’d been working my ass for for a decade to get, I’d done my best make his life a living hell. Eating his lunches, deleting important files on his computer, even messing up his schedule so he was an hour late to his own presentations.
And yet, no matter what I did, Tom just kept on smiling and going with the flow. My bosses were no better. When I pointed out his horrible failures to them, they just shrugged it off and suggested that maybe I take some time off.
As if I could take time off when I hard work to do: making Tom suffer!
I decided to up the ante. I lowered his desk chair by one-half inch every day to make him think he was shrinking; he just happily got pillows from the break room and sat on them. I plugged a wireless mouse into his computer and wiggled it while he was working on things; corporate just sent him a new computer, way better than his old one and mine too. I even tried the old “salt in the coffee” technique; he just returned it to Starbucks and got a fifty dollar gift card as an apology. When he showed it off to everyone I felt like I’d gulped down an entire salt shaker myself.
He left me with no choice. It was time to break out the weapons of mass destruction. Or, rather, the weapons of mass defecation.
Tom may have gotten away with the salt in his coffee. But how would he deal with a couple heaping tablespoons of ex-lax in his morning tea?
I arrived at the office the next morning an hour early, before the city had even woken up. The night guard greeted me in the lobby as I came in, and I smiled at him, holding tight my purse full of liquid laxatives.
I strutted into the elevator, rode it up to the tenth floor, and then shuffled through the empty cubicle hallways right on over to Tom’s private office. Off on the side on a counter was all of his tea-making materials: the hot water dispenser, the cups, the bags of Earl Gray, Barley, and Oolong. I glared at them as I pulled the bottle out of my purse, twisted it open, and poured it into the spoon, ready to drop it into the dispenser.
“Oolong,” I muttered to myself, scrunching up my lips in disgust. “What a stupid name. Almost as stupid as Tom.”
“Oh really?” came a voice behind me. “You used to tell me you loved my name.”
I dropped the spoon and dripped the ex-lax to the floor as I spun around. Tom was there, hidden behind his door, his arms crossed and smiling.
“Tom!” I croaked, not knowing what to do with the incriminating evidence in my hands. “What are you… uh, doing here so early?”
“I figured I should come in early, since I saw you leave early too,” he said.
Now it was my turn to be shocked. I scrambled to put the lid back on the ex-lax and stared at Tom in confusion.
“Uh, what are you talking about?”
“It’s me, Petty,” Tom said, walking closer. “Harold. Your husband.”
In one smooth motion, Tom removed his thick glasses and his blond wig, revealing a completely different person beneath them.
“Harold?” I asked, squinting in disbelief. “But how… why… ?”
Harold chuckled. “It was part of an experiment, I suppose. You haven’t been home in so long, I wanted to see if you would finally notice me if I showed up at your work. But I guess… I guess not, huh?”
Suddenly everything clicked in my head. “That’s the reason why you were chosen over me for the position. And that’s the reason why no one cared when you messed things up.”
“Well,” Harold said, “you were the one who messed things up. I have to say, I didn’t quite expect you to go so far with all your little pranks.”
My face burned with embarrassment, remembering all the stupid things I’d done. And how much I’d ignored my husband at home.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have been such a jerk. To you. Or to Tom.”
“Well, Tom accepts your apology,” Harold said. “And he also wants to let you know that starting today, you have his job.”
I was happy to hear that, but at the same time, it wasn’t what I cared about anymore.
“Hey,” I said. “It’s still early. How about we go get some breakfast somewhere?”
“Sure,” Harold said. He reached into his pocket and took out the Starbuck’s gift card. “I know just the place to go.”
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you. We stream on Twitch every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday at 6:30pm-10:30pm (U.S. Eastern Standard Time).
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel, or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
Scott Wilson is the author of the novel Metl: The ANGEL Weapon,
forthcoming March 2019.