Crisp, Clean, Concise.... The Good Cook's Guide to the Chopping Block of Chronic Wordiness and Winter's End Book Giveaway!

Oh my stars, Tina noted the irony of this post title right off because if there’s one thing I’m NOT (okay, there are a lot of things I’m not, but we don’t need to go THERE, do we???) it’s crisp, clean or concise.

Sigh.

But I am a good cook, therefore well-intentioned and the chopping block of verbosity IS my new stomping ground because my beautiful, wonderful, marvelous Steeple Hill Love Inspired books are 55-60,000 words in length.

Now you’d think that was easy, I know, and for most intents and purposes you’d be spot on, especially when I have total and utmost appreciation for songwriters who tell a COMPLETE STORY in sixteen lines.

Now that’s talent.

I whine about having to cut from 70K to 60K and why, you ask? Because I talk too much, plain and simple. I like to blame that on my parents, they’re both in heaven so there’s no imminent smack-down, and I can shrug the onus onto them, but the plain fact is, brevity rules for general purposes.

Bill O’Reilly calls it pithiness. I like O’Reilly most times, and he’s concise, so I took myself to Cheryl Wyatt’s great blog here to help teach myself how to be pithy, concise, succinct, short and snappy.
When necessary, of course. Because while a fun, sensual repartee can be quick, razor-sharp and to the point, love scenes should invite the reader to linger…

But each and every one of you got to LINGER way too long yesterday, oh my stars, I ran the a/c all night and I live in upstate New York. And it’s February.

Good grief.

But Cheryl made some great points in her blog that day in ‘08 and I realized it’s not so much cutting the book as it is the art of rephrasing.

Big difference.

So, let’s play: Here’s a scene from a new book, first draft. I wrote it this morning, banging it out, and here it is, unfiltered:

Trent thought he had this all under control, old memories, old feelings stowed in a virtual military-style foot locker. He’d been gone a dozen years, a long time by anyone’s standards, and yet...

The minute his car began the climb toward The Edge, his heart began a new rhythm, something sharp and staccato, not a bit comfortable.

He shoved the feeling aside as old news. He’d been a kid. He made mistakes. Who didn’t?

And yet being with Lyssa had never felt like a mistake, despite their youth, their emotions, their eighteen-year-old passions that swept them into uncharted territory. He was the guilty one, he knew that now. Had known it for some time. As the man, he was the God-sworn protector, the leader.

He’d failed miserably.

But it was a long time ago. They’d both moved on. He’d only wished he had the chance to apologize, to make things right, or at least as right as they ever could be, but once she’d dumped him and headed west, she hadn’t looked back.

After all that happened, he couldn’t say he blamed her.

He parked the car alongside Helen’s sedan. Everyone else had given her a wide berth, as if respecting her position by parking elsewhere.

Trent had no such issues. Helen Walker was a smart, savvy woman who knew her business, the kind of CEO he enjoyed working with. She waited for him to catch up, then angled a look to the setting, the cozy restaurant nestled in its hillside setting. “Bring back memories?”

Trent paused, startled. How could Helen...?

“You used to work here, right?” She sent him a look, half-frown, half-smile. “In the kitchen with Gary and Susan.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I did.” Duh, Trent. Get a handle on this, okay? Of course she knew that, everyone knew that. What they didn’t know was his relationship with Lyssa. Gary Langley wouldn’t have thought too highly of his beautiful, smart daughter taking up with the kid who got dumped along the side of the road, no matter how good he was on the football field.

“Jonas and I came here often. He loved the prime rib. Always said Gary had a hand with it like no other.”

Trent nodded agreement, but it wasn’t as if he had anything to go on. A kid washing dishes and peeling potatoes didn’t get to sample things like prime rib.

Okay, let’s play:

Trent thought he had this all under control, old memories, his old feelings stowed in a virtual military-style foot locker. He’d been gone a dozen years, a long time by anyone’s standards, and yet...

I dumped the qualifier ‘all’… I overuse them, but I don’t worry about it until I edit. I also over-state things by doubling feelings for emphasis. A little of that goes a LONG way in fiction, so I cut most of them back out to sharpen the flow. The reader already knows Trent was a former Army captain, a West Point grad and a decorated war veteran so describing the imaginary foot locker as ‘military-style’ is redundant.

The minute his car began the climb As his car snaked its way up the familiar mountain road, The Edge, his heart began stuttered a new rhythm, something sharp and staccato, not a bit comfortable. Uncomfortable. Maybe even painful.

He shoved the feeling aside as old news. He’d been a kid. He made mistakes. Who didn’t?

The snaking car lets the reader visualize a curving road without me saying he was driving up a curving road, or following the curves in the road. The word ‘snaking’ conveys the sense of winding, curving terrain. I dumped the restaurant name here because I’ll probably overuse it on my first draft, the restaurant name befitting its location and their feelings for one another, chronically on edge...

I changed ‘began’ to ‘stuttered’ to allude to an adrenalin kick, the way our hearts chug into overdrive when police strobes suddenly appear in our rear-view mirror... Not that I give men in uniform any reason whatsoever to pull me over.

Hush, Sandra!!!

The phrase “Not a bit comfortable” offers the feeling but not the warring emotion within Trent's soul. Going with the simple one word: “Uncomfortable” followed by “Maybe even painful” offers the reader a quick peek into Trent’s past, his feelings, just enough of a hint to know something happened, something went amiss or awry.

And yet being with Lyssa had never felt like a mistake, despite their youth, their emotions, their eighteen-year-old passions that swept them into uncharted territory. He was the guilty one, he knew that now. Had known it for some time. As the man, he was the God-sworn protector, the guardian, the leader.

I’m dumping that whole line referring to their youth. Better to leave it short, concise, firm, strong, a simple declarative. We want him recognizing that what they did was wrong, but it felt right. And perfect. And wonderful. But we can’t say all that yet, so we want to hint at it, that their first taste of love, of sex, of romance and intimacy was something special even though it was short-lived.

He’d failed miserably.

But it was a long time ago. They’d both moved on. He’d only wished he had the chance to apologize, to make things right, or at least as right as they ever could be, but once she’d dumped him and headed west, she hadn’t looked back.

After all that happened, he couldn’t say he blamed her.

At this point, I like this paragraph sequence just as it is. I may change it later, but right now it works and I don’t dilly-dally too much with this first draft revision, just enough to sharpen things, gain clarity for myself and the future reader. And set an emotional curve going, the beginnings of a roller coaster ride that should offer readers comfort just prior to jerking the rug out from beneath their feet. Uneven footing is the best-hugged fictional pathway.

He parked the car alongside Helen’s sedan. Everyone else had given gave her a wide berth, as if respecting her position by parking elsewhere.

Trent had no such issues. Not Trent.

*These changes were strictly for condensing, saying more with less. The reader already knows that Helen owns and runs the company he’s applying to, they’ve watched the corporate officers give her space in the boardroom, all but one... If I’ve set that stage well, I don’t need any of these words to make my point.*

Helen Walker was a smart, savvy woman who knew her business, the kind of CEO he enjoyed working with admired. She waited for him to catch up, then angled a look to the setting, the cozy cedar-sided restaurant nestled among the trees.in its hillside setting. “Bring back memories?”

Trent stopped,paused, startled. How could Helen...?

*Double descriptors again. “Smart, savvy.” A couple in a book, well-placed, is enough. More than that is overkill or overuse of some wonderful literary technique Margie Lawson taught us about a few months back. The word “admired” shows that Trent appreciates Helen’s business acumen and cuts two needless words. If you noticed, I’d doubled the phrase ‘the setting’, again not uncommon for me when I do a first draft. And I’m dumping both because this book is set in the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains bordering Pennsylvania and New York, so hillside settings are a dime a dozen. Instead I offered a hint of the wood-siding on the restaurant, and then Trent’s surprise at her question.*

“You used to work worked here, right?” She sent him a quizzical look, half-frown, half-smile. “In the kitchen With Gary and Susan?”

*’Worked’ replaces the phrase ‘used to work’ and saves me two words. I added the adjective ‘quizzical’ because I want the reader to see Helen note his reaction through that one word. I dropped ‘in the kitchen’ because the reader will know that Trent washed dishes and did menial prep work, so of course it’s in the kitchen.*

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I did.” Duh, Trent. Get a clue handle on this, okay? Of course she knew that, everyone knew that. What they didn’t know was his relationship with Lyssa. Gary Langley wouldn’t have thought too highly of his beautiful, smart approved of his daughter taking up with trailer trash the kid who got dumped along the side of the road, no matter how good he was on the football field.

*The ‘oh’ sounds feminine to me. “Get a clue” sounds more contemporary than get a handle on this... but that might get used elsewhere, later. I dumped the ‘thought too highly...etc.’ because I don’t need all that there. The reader has already met Alyssa, they like her, and they know Gary’s got issues. No need to repeat that here. And it saves me six words. Six words I can use elsewhere later. Like for KISSING!!!!*

“Jonas and I came here often," she explained. "He loved the prime rib. Always said Gary had a special hand with it like no other.”

Propriety pushed Trent to nod agreement, but it wasn’t as if not because he had anything to go on. A kid washing dishes and peeling potatoes didn’t get wasn’t invited to sample things like prime rib.

*Adding the adjective ‘special’ shows their appreciation for the prime rib (I’m getting HUNGRY!!!) and saves me two words. Dropping the ‘but’ phrase in the next sentence is simply for flow. I could have left it because it carries a colloquial sound and timing that I like, but it’s a phrase I tend to use too often so I watch out for it.*

So, let’s see how we did:

Trent thought he had this under control, his old feelings stowed in a virtual foot locker. He’d been gone a dozen years, a long time by anyone’s standards, and yet...

As his car snaked up the familiar mountain road, his heart stuttered a new rhythm, something sharp and staccato. Uncomfortable. Maybe even painful.

He shoved the feeling aside. He’d been a kid. He made mistakes. Who didn’t?

And yet being with Lyssa had never felt like a mistake. He was the guilty one, he knew that now. Had known it for some time. As the man, he was the God-sworn protector, the guardian, the leader.

He’d failed miserably.

But it was a long time ago. They’d both moved on. He only wished he had the chance to apologize, to make things right, or at least as right as they ever could be, but once she’d dumped him and headed west, she hadn’t looked back.

After all that happened, he couldn’t say he blamed her.

He parked alongside Helen. Everyone else gave her a wide berth, as if respecting her position by parking elsewhere.

Not Trent.

Helen Walker was a savvy woman who knew her business, the kind of CEO he admired. She waited for him to catch up, then angled a look to the cedar-sided restaurant nestled among the trees. “Bring back memories?”

Trent stopped, startled.

“You worked here, right?” She sent him a quizzical look, half-frown, half-smile. “With Gary and Susan?”

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

Duh, Trent. Get a clue, okay? Of course she knew that, everyone knew that. What they didn’t know was his relationship with Lyssa. Gary Langley wouldn’t have approved of his daughter taking up with trailer trash, no matter how good he was on the football field.

“Jonas and I came here often,” she explained. “He loved the prime rib. Always said Gary had a special hand with it.”

Propriety pushed Trent to nod agreement, not because he had anything to go on. A kid washing dishes and peeling potatoes wasn’t invited to sample things like prime rib.

The original version had 398 words.

The new version has 342. In a three-page excerpt I saved 56 words.

That’s huge. If you figure that over the course of an average 300 page book (done in Courier New) that’s 5,000 words I bought myself to play with.

And that’s only on the first go ‘round.

When I make stew, (NO, NOT RODEO STEW, THAT WAS A WHOLE DIFFERENT BLOG AND YOU KNOW IT!!!) I like big chunks of celery, carrot and potato.

In tuna or chicken salad I want my veggies cut finer, more pristine.

That’s how I view editing. It’s the fine-tuning of good ideas to solid ground, that basis for adding foreshadowing, hints, hesitation, etc. later on. With a good base (kind of like building a house, the driveway base does better if you drive on it for the first year before laying the asphalt...)the subtle nuances of each word shine brighter, work harder.

And leave me more room for writing kissing scenes like Julie’s, LOL!

Now, since you've stayed with me this long and haven't fallen asleep (that I know of!), here are a few things of great import:

I have a cold and I'm whiny, but that's not the important stuff. The important stuff is that I brought coffee, hot lemonade (I TOLD you I was whiny. Hot lemonade soothes my throat and nose...), tea and fresh strudel because Susan in this story makes GREAT strudel. They serve it at The Edge, their lovely hillside restaurant not far from Wellsville and Angelica...

Don't you just LOVE those names???

And if you comment today, be sure to leave me your e-mail address so you can be put in a drawing for a copy of Winter's End, my very first, numero uno, debut novel out later this month by Steeple Hill Books. SWEET!!!!

And I brought tissues. The kind with lotion. Because yes, I am a wuss. And trust me on this one, NO ONE is lining up to kiss me right now, even after Julie's hot-to-trot blog yesterday.

Oh mylanta.

Ruthy