Method Monday–Ruthless Editing

Red ink is a good thing

Method Monday is a weekly entry about my writing process. Maybe you’ll find something in my process that’s worth adopting. Maybe you have ideas for me. This week, I discuss editing my work ruthlessly. Enjoy.

In my opinion, editing is the most important part of the writing process. No matter how inspired a first draft feels, I know it cannot be my final draft. When I write a first draft, I try to let it flow as freely as possible. It’s more important to me that I get the imagery or ideas on paper than form or mechanics. Those arrive during editing. Something I’ve been working on when editing, and feel may be more important than the editing methodology I use, is ruthlessness.

Being ruthless with one’s own work isn’t always easy. Sometimes I become emotionally attached to specific words, phrases, or lines. I’ve learned the hard way that hanging on to these favorite bits can be fatal to the poem as a whole. Those lines may be great, but insisting that they remain in a poem in which they don’t belong is foolish. Consciously knowing this doesn’t make them easy to cut, but I’m learning. One thing I’ve done to help myself cut more efficiently is create a slush pile, if you will. In this way, I can focus on bettering the current poem without abandoning these lines completely; they may be appropriate for other works.

You may wonder, how do I know what to cut? The easiest answer I can offer is when in doubt, cut. If you read a poetry anthology (what we may loosely refer to as “great poetry”), notice that great poets do not waste words. Everything serves the greater purpose of the poem. That’s what I want for my poetry. Every word should be the exact word it needs to be, and accomplishing this goal requires ruthless cutting.

In addition to cutting what doesn’t belong, I must make what remains the best version of itself. Young Randall thought only weak writers used thesauruses. Now I know realize that I don’t know every synonym, and I know longer see using this resource as an attack on my creativity or originality. Whether or not I use a thesaurus, the first word I choose to express an idea may not be the best word.

Though it may deviate from the practical advice presented to cut and replace when appropriate, it’s also important psychologically that I edit with a red ink pen. Public schools may frown on red ink and its supposed impact on student self-esteem, but I’m talking about ruthless self-examination. I need to see it. If there isn’t enough red on my draft copy to induce temporary shock, then I know I’m being easy on myself. If I’m easy on myself, then I’m going to present a lesser poem as the finished product. That is unacceptable.

It’s time to become ruthless, time to break out the scissors and red ink.

By the way, if you’re curious about the poem in the image, it’s here.

Write Drunk. Edit Sober.

An alcoholic is someone you don’t like who drinks as much as you do.
Dylan Thomas (1914 – 1953) (quotationspage.com)

Dylan Thomas having a beer.

Alcohol has long held a (honorable?) place in literary culture. Sometimes it takes over. The early deaths of Truman Capote, Dylan Thomas, and many other writers can attest to that. But if you are one who can drink in moderation, go for it. Pour yourself a double and get to work on that novel, short story, essay, or poem.

Alcohol is a social lubricant for me. When I drink, I talk and talk and talk. When I drink around paper, my pen does the talking. A couple glasses of Scotch (neat, please, Mr. Bartender) or a Gin Martini (Beefeater, dry) has helped me through a few blocks.

The greatest risk when drinking while writing, for me at least, is that I lose exactness. My ideas flow as freely as the booze, but my specifics falter. I make careless grammatical errors. I present ideas out of order. I ramble.

That’s why it’s important to edit sober. Take out that draft the next day, if you aren’t too hungover, and comb through it. After you correct the mechanics, you may well have a fine draft. This is simple advice really, but I know several writers who indulge in writing drunk then fail to sober up for the editing process.

Here’s to the brewers and distillers and to good writing! Cheers!

Hey Mister, Would Ya Roll Me One of Those?

On Saturday I received a couple coupons and other fun stuff from Sante Fe Tobacco Company, makers of Natural American Spirit cigarettes, so today I’m going to tell you why I roll my own cigarettes. What does that have to do with writing, you may well ask. Everything. Smoking has long been a part of literary tradition.

So why do I roll my own when pre-packed cigarettes are quite readily available?

Hand-rolled cigarettes are less expensive. My savings is not as great as it once was because prices on American Spirit leaf tobacco recently shot up 30% in Tulsa (something about a distribution center closing and increased transport costs), but a pouch of tobacco with 50 papers is still less expensive than 2 packs of 20 cigarettes (40 total). My overall savings is about 20%.

The flavor is MUCH better, and since I’m a snob, that’s a big deal. Most brands use significantly higher quality product for loose tobacco than for pre-packed cigarettes. American Spirit, the brand I smoke, is one of the few exceptions. They use high-quality tobacco in both applications; quality is one of their selling points, along with use of natural and organic tobacco. But even in this case the loose tobacco has larger leaves, less chance of being dry upon arrival, and doesn’t have to compete with the foam filter. Once you’ve had unfiltered cigarettes, pre-packed or hand-rolled, you’ll realize how much flavor hindrance the filter causes.

They’re better for the environment. So this may be an argument built on conjecture and bullshit, but hear me out. Loose tobacco is more likely to be additive-free. Having just tobacco instead of tobacco plus a chemistry lab must be better for the environment (and less bad for the smoker). Also, when you consider that billions of discarded cigarette filters litter our street, a biodegradable option (it’s only paper and tobacco) is better. We should still try to extinguish our smokes in ash trays when available, though.

The primary, and most poetic, reason is process. I find a certain romance in deliberate processes. In writing, I want a satisfactory finished product, of course, but I cherish each step that gets me there: first draft, second draft, peer review, third draft,…fiftieth draft, etc. I hope this concept shows in my poem, “Communion,” which uses rolling and smoking a cigarette as a metaphor for the writing process.

Well, I’m going to step outside and indulge now. Smoke ‘em if you’ve got ‘em.

Editing: Judged by a Jury of Your Peers

Sorry for the infrequency of blog posts recently. My work schedule has been rather difficult.

If you’ve ever taken a university writing course, you’ve probably gone through a peer review process for a writing assignment. You know the drill: get into groups of 3 or 4, pass your papers around, and listen to people who can’t write a complete sentence speculate about the placement of commas. No substantive commentary. (Not that comma placement isn’t important.) That was often my experience before I got into upper-division English courses. That’s when I stopped viewing it as a chore and made it an integral part of my writing process. I finally had actual peers reviewing my writing. No matter what type of writing you are doing, having your peers review it is beneficial.

Peer review is more than just editing. Editing generally focuses on correcting a work to meet grammatical standards. I don’t want to downplay editing; it’s very important. When I say peer review, I mean your peers. If you are a university student majoring in biology, an English major may well be willing to help you with editing (and probably can be easily persuaded with cash or food), but a fellow biology major (or professor) should be consulted for review of your content and the specific rules of biology papers. In non-academic writing, a poet should seek other poets, a novelist other novelists, and so on.

I’m not suggesting that writers of different types of material cannot present good opinions that will help you, but there is a certain intrinsic value in what your peers can offer. I often write poetry, and though I frequently share my writing with prose writers (and non-writers), I get something else from poets. My fellow poets understand aspects of poetry differently, things that go beyond an academic understanding of the craft. They understand poetry from the inside, if you will. I have a few poet friends whom I can email and get detailed analysis, and I also participate in One Shot Wednesday to gain perspective from a wider poetry community.

Happy writing, friends. Cheers

Writing: You smell that?

Earlier this week, I posted an entry about using sound (particularly onomatopoeia) in your writing to help the reader more fully connect with your work. Now it’s time to talk about smell. I guess this means I’m writing a freakin’ series now, doesn’t it?

I previously talked about sound being neglected in writing, but I think smell is even more so. Considering that smell is the sense most strongly linked to memory, this is a huge missed opportunity for writers.

So how do we describe smell?

Don’t be too general. If something has an unpleasant odor, don’t tell me it “stinks.” Describe to me why it stinks. Use concrete adjectives and figurative language. By concrete adjectives, I mean words like sweet, sour, and so on. Ex: Cutting open the grapefruit immediately released a rush of sweet, tangy odors, and a citrusy tinge that made my eyes water. Figurative language often includes the use of simile and metaphor to describe how something smells. Many a restaurant trash dumpster, for instance, smells overwhelmingly like soured milk. (I’ve worked in my share of restaurants.)

Figurative language doesn’t have to describe the smell so literally, as I’ve done with my dumpster example. It is, after all, figurative language. Ex: Lemonade smells like the summer evenings of my youth, sitting on my grandfather’s porch and watching the sun disappear behind the distant cotton fields.

If you don’t have space to describe it further (i.e. you’re writing a poem in a particular form), at least use a stronger adjective. If it smells really bad, “reek” is often a better choice than “stinks.”

In my post about sound, I suggested sitting somewhere with your eyes closed for a few minutes then writing about the sounds you heard. A similar exercise may be beneficial with smell.

Well, I’ve got to get back to watching the kids, so smell ya later!

Writing: Equipment Matters

In addition to writing great poetry, mediocre prose, and clever essays, I play tennis. Skill is the most important need when playing the sport, of course, and this is built through a combination of natural talent and practice, but equipment is also important. Different playing styles benefit from different types of racquets and different types of and tensions of strings. I’m an all court player, which means I use a mix of groundstrokes from the baseline and serving and volleying. I was formerly more of a serve and volleyer, but more or less shredding the cartilage in my knees has made that style more difficult. I digress. My playing style requires a racquet that has good touch and doesn’t necessarily produce a lot of power (I do well enough at knocking the hell out of the ball), so I prefer the Prince Precision series of racquets, and I use synthetic gut strings (real cat gut strings don’t fit my vegetarian ethics very well) to enhance my feel of the ball further.

As vain as it sounds, the right equipment is important for writing, too. I cannot convince my mind to write a decent first draft on a computer (with the exceptions of academic essays and blog posts). When I write poetry, I have to write it out by hand, then I type it into my computer for editing and storage. For prose, I prefer a typewriter. Imagine your cliché image of an author with long beard, cigarettes, small desk, manual typewriter, and so on; that’s me, though my beard isn’t too long, yet and only contains a few grey hairs.

I carry a (vinyl-covered) Moleskin notebook with me everywhere I go for writing poetry and jotting down notes for other writing projects. It’s a perfect fit for me. It slides right into my coat pocket or rear jeans pocket. I also carry a black Pilot G2 ink pen because I like both the feel of writing with it and the look of the words on the page. Portability is essential. If I get an idea or have a moment of inspiration, I can take out my notebook and immediately write down my thoughts.

My four typewriters usually stay at home. I have a manual black Royal typewriter (1920s?), a faded lime green Olympia portable manual typewriter (1950s?), an Underwood early electric typewriter (1960s?) that’s enormous and doesn’t fully functions, and a 1980s electric typewriter (can’t remember the brand right now). There’s something wonderful, mystical even, about writing on these typewriters. And there’s the music of writing–tickity tickity tick ding schwoop tickity tickity tick ding…

I have nothing against computers. They definitely make the editing process and storage easier, but they just don’t have the same feel when writing.

What is your preferred writing equipment?

Crosswords, an Addiction

Hi, I’m Randall, and I’m addicted to crossword puzzles.

I was sitting in a cafe earlier doing some work. A guy came in, purchased today’s Tulsa World, and asked if he could sit in the empty chair next to me. I welcomed him. We sat in silence as he read the paper and I searched online job ads (my job is to help other people find jobs). He eventually noticed a seat open up farther from the door and having grown tired of the cold draft, he moved. As he got up, he tossed a section of the newspaper on the table beside me. It was the “Scene” section, which contains the comics (the most insightful page of the paper) and two crossword puzzles. I don’t know why he chose to leave this section behind. Maybe he has no interest in local food and music scenes, or he noticed, via ESP or something, that I was looking for a fix for my addiction. Either way, I’m thankful.

This won’t fix me for long, though. The Tulsa World crosswords, provided by the NEA and King Publishing, aren’t very good. They have a difficulty level that is usually a couple steps shy of a Monday New York Times puzzle, and the clues are often poorly written. Also, they don’t progress in difficulty like the Times. It’s fun to start with the ease of Monday and work through to the more challenging puzzles of the week. Monday puzzles usually take me 10-20 minutes, and Friday and Saturday puzzles may take me hours. Then there is the grand Sunday puzzle, what a jewel!

Crosswords puzzles are an appropriate addiction for a writer, I think, and especially for a poet. They are great for all writers, or anyone who wants a better vocabulary, because the solver must find the perfect word for the meaning that is implied in the clue. Sometimes a clue has a relatively easy answer, but the first answer that comes to mind doesn’t fit. We must then search the thesaurus of our minds for the correct synonym.

I say they are especially good for poets due to the mathematical processes of crossing certain words. This mode of thinking helps me see the meter of my poems better. If I need to count iambs, syllables, or rhyme scheme to fit a poetic form, I need to think both mathematically and creatively. Even free verse has a certain rhythm rooted in mathematics. Pardon the pun.

So if I ever tell you I’ve been sober from crossword puzzles for any length of time, stop calling me a poet. I am no more than a sad man.

Argument

This semester I am taking Advanced Comp II, which focuses on written arguments. Arguing is nothing new to me (I enjoy debating politics and theology with friends, especially after a few drinks), but I haven’t spent much time studying this mode of discourse. When I argue, I try to follow a logical progression in presenting and defending my ideas. I think studying this topic further will increase my ability to do this both orally and in writing.

Obviously, the most direct impact of this course will be on my academic writing. A lot of writing that English majors do is argumentative. We must read and interpret works of literature then write about our interpretations. Our audience is usually a mix of professors and fellow English majors, people who will quickly notice any holes in our arguments.

I wonder how learning more about argument theory will affect my non-academic writing, my poetry and prose. I suppose it will have an impact in helping me write about certain themes. My poem, “On the Closing of Rec Center at Owen Park,” certainly makes an argument about the value of recreation centers in communities, which is both a values argument and a political one.

Political poems aren’t common for me, but there is always a theme or themes in need of support through my use of content and metaphor. Perhaps studying argument will make more more aware of how my content relates to those themes. I hope, though, that I don’t become too didactic in my writing. There’s a difference, I think, between expressing a theme, even one side of a divisive one, and moralizing to your audience.

Now I’m thinking about what role a writer should have in defining morality in society. People do look for expressions or denials of social values in writing, but I think that’s different than what I called “moralizing” to an audience. When I say moralizing, I’m thinking of something like Puritan writing. I’m not really sure I have a conclusion to make about this concept. When I do, I’ll write a fantastic argument about it.

Well, it’s back to the homework.

On Inspiration

Haven’t heard from the 9 muses lately? That’s not a big surprise, is it? Greek mythological figures are notoriously unreliable. Do you really need them to write? Writing definitely feels easier and better when I feel inspired. There’s something inexplicable, mystical even, about being arrested by inspiration, by a glimpse of an idea that makes me pull the car to the side of the road and scribble in my notebook.

But it doesn’t always happen like that. Sometimes writing is hard work. Here are a few ideas to get you through those times when you can’t find inspiration:

1. Keep Writing. Giving up won’t get you anywhere. If you don’t continue writing regularly, despite this obstacle, you’ll lose both the mechanics of your craft and the ability to feel inspiration when it does resurface. When I don’t feel it, I switch from trying to force poetry to writing observations in prose. It keeps my pen moving and my eyes open.
A lot of my poetry is observational anyway, so it helps me to sit in a cafe or mall or park or wherever and simply jot things down. I might not have the perfect metaphor that I would so easily find under inspiration, but writing done during spells like this makes me a better writer. Sometimes what I collect turns into poetry later. I revisit my notes and find myself mentally returned to when I wrote them, and that’s when I can shape them into verse and add all those fancy rhetorical devices like simile, metaphor, alliteration, etc.
Lurking in the corner of the cafe and writing about people not your style? Try structured exercises. The internet has no shortage of writing prompts. Here are some from Writer’s Digest. Even though most of my poems are free verse, assigning myself forms is often helpful. Another way to play with the form idea is to assign yourself a different genre of writing. I write mostly poetry, so I may assign myself fiction or non-fiction prose writing.

2. Give Yourself a Deadline. Self-discipline is not my greatest virtue, so applying external pressure helps me a lot. Maybe your deadline can be self-imposed. I sometimes commit to a contest or submission deadline and, instead of sending something that’s already ready, I tell myself that I must write a new poem, story, or essay. One way to avoid giving in to submitting a previously completed work is to choose a contest/submission that is topical.
Another method of deadline setting I employ is telling my editing friends that I will send them something by a certain date or at a certain interval. This can be easy to skirt with excuses, so choose friends who won’t let you get away with that.

3. Read. If you care at all about you’re writing, you should read a lot anyway, but I think reading is especially important when you feel uninspired. I try to read a mix of books that includes authors who write in a similar style as I and authors who write quite differently. Challenge yourself.

4. Edit. Your work and others’ work. I have a few friends who share writing with each other. It makes us all better, I think. In regard to editing my own writing, I find that lack of inspiration can actually benefit the editing process. It allows me to look at the mechanics of writing. Even if you write free verse or prose, there are mechanics to consider. Your poetry may not have set rules for lines and stanzas, but it does have a rhythm that can be worked on with or without inspiration.

I hope these thoughts are helpful. Perhaps I’ll have more to say on the matter another time.