How I edit my own work - Plus a story to read too - 7
If you'd like to read the story in the edited format rather than comparing the 'before and after' versions, feel free to just read the left hand side version.
Images from Google (free to use) and Pixabay
I wrote this story hot on the heels of Deadlier Than The Male because I was never confident that my first book's success wasn't some sort of fluke.
Re-reading this, I'm still not convinced I didn't just get lucky with my Werewolf story.
Daughters of Le Fey has been put away and not touched, certainly not added to, for six or seven years. My mother-in-law read it (or as much of it as I've written) and she has always encouraged me to continue with it.
I've had the plot rattling around in my head for the past seven years and I know where it's going but I can't get it out of my head yet.
I'm sincerely hoping that, like Ash's story, because I'm working on it every day, it will start to get a life of its own again and I'll be able to progress.
I'm not there yet, I still have some editing to go, and I'm using this editing process to refresh my memory on where the story came from and hopefully that will help in forming where it's going to go.
I think, because it's set at a more gentle pace, I'm having trouble with describing the people and their actions. I'm used to action-driven storylines. I may yet have to rip it apart and start again...
My habit of opening a new doc for every post has served me well in the midst of the problems yesterday.
I posted and uploaded and – nothing! It all went blank and straight back to my home page.
I lost the formatting and the pictures I’d uploaded straight to steemit.com but at least I didn’t lose the whole thing!
Dominic did not seem to notice his new bride’s joy or regret. Instead, he led her over to the oak stump, lifted her by her waist to sit upon the top, and then pushed her with a firm gentleness so that she lay down, legs dangling over the edge of the stump.
As he began to pull her gown up, she realised what he was doing and stopped him.
“Please, Dominic, not yet. I saw something.”
“Where?” He did not look around and he sounded impatient.
“Across the stream, I think I saw my Mother.”
“But you cannot see visions. The pain in your hand has always prevented you.” Dominic’s tone was curt and clipped, he was becoming annoyed, she could tell, but for once, Katherine persisted.
“I know, but I did see her. Let me try once more?”
Before he could forbid it, she slid from the stump and crossed the clearing to stand at the side of the ox-bow lake. The mist on the other side of the stream swirled as though blown by the mildest of breezes. Katherine concentrated and for a second or so, the mist seemed to gather substance, to form the foundation for a shape perhaps reclining low to the ground. But her hand’s ache prevented her from concentrating and the image drifted away from its form.
“Oh, Morgana,” she whispered.
“What is it wife?” Dominic asked, the impatience still in his voice but masked now.
“I almost saw her, but my hand…” she lifted it in dismay.
“We have one final ceremony that we can try,” he reminded her. “But you were reluctant to take the final step.”
“I am no longer unwilling.” She said with resolution.
Dominic nodded and they returned to the stump.
She watched and waited whilst he took candles from his bag. He arranged them to follow a particularly wide age line around the perimeter of the stump top. Then he took his most treasured ceremonial knife, removed the wrapping from it and placed it on the cloth at the centre of the stump.
“Promise me you will not hurt me too much.”
“Of course I promise.”
She stood still as he pulled the drawstring open at her neck. Then he pulled her shift over her shoulders with no passion or tenderness and Katherine did not expect any. He pulled it on down to her waist and over her hips and to her feet. She stepped out of the puddle of fabric and he led her to her position and pushed down on her shoulders to encourage her to kneel. She laid her right arm across the top of the oak stump and placed her forehead on her left hand at the edge, closing her eyes.
Her new husband held her right forearm tight and muttered words she recognised by the shape they made in the air and others that she did not recognise. Her apprenticeship had come to an end just the previous day and she had thought he had taught her all he knew. He had promised to teach her all he knew, but for her to know all he did, she would have recognised all of the words in the ceremony.
She started to lift her head to question him, just as he brought down the razor edged blade of the heavy ceremonial knife onto her neck. Her eyes widened in the shock of betrayal, a tiny murmur of surprise was cut off below the blade and never made it to her ears.
She did still hear though, she heard her body half slump, held only by her right arm and her ruined hand. Then she heard the blade once more and her arm was free to thump onto the forest floor, preceded by her upper body.
Her eyes still saw, they saw her husband take her useless hand and hold the bleeding base over the largest of the candles in order to seal the stump. She saw her body lifeless on the ground. She saw him turn to her head and lift it by the tresses of red hair, already matted with her life-blood. She saw him kiss her lips and as her senses at last departed, she saw him laugh.
Dominic did not notice his new bride’s joy or subsequent regret. Instead, he led her over to the oak stump, lifted her by her waist to sit upon the top, and then pushed her with a firm, gentle hand so that she lay down, legs dangling over the edge of the stump.
As he began to pull her gown up, she realised what he was doing, and sat up, put her hand on his chest and shook her head.
“Please, Dominic, not yet. I saw something.”
“Where?” He did not look around and his brow furrowed in a rare, impatient frown.
“Across the stream, I think I saw my Mother.”
“But you cannot see visions. The pain in your hand has always prevented you.” Dominic’s tone was curt and clipped, his frown deepened to a scowl. She shrank back in habit, but for once she persisted.
“I know, but I did see her. Let me try once more?”
Before he could forbid it, she slid from the stump and crossed the clearing to stand at the edge of the ox-bow lake. The mist on the other side of the stream swirled as though blown by the mildest of breezes. Katherine concentrated and for a second or so, the gathered substance to form the foundation for a shape crouching low to the ground. The ache in her hand prevented her from concentrating and the image collapsed and drifted away from its form.
“Oh, Morgana,” she whispered.
“What is it wife?” Dominic asked, he managed to mask the impatience in his voice.
“I almost saw her, but my hand…” she lifted it in dismay.
“We have one final ceremony that we can try,” he reminded her. “But you were reluctant to take the final step.”
“I am no longer unwilling,” she said and turned to him. She led the way back to the stump.
Dominic nodded and followed her.
She watched and waited whilst he took candles from his bag. He arranged them around a particularly wide age line on the perimeter of the stump top. He took his most treasured ceremonial knife, removed the wrapping and placed it on the cloth at the centre of the stump.
“Promise me you will not hurt me too much.”
“Of course I promise.”
She stood in modesty, allowing him to pull the drawstring of her shift open at her neck. He pulled it down over her shoulders with no passion or tenderness; Katherine did not expect any. He pulled it down to her waist and over her hips to fall at her feet. She stepped out of the puddle of fabric and he took her hand and led her to the stump where he pushed down on her shoulders to encourage her to kneel.
She laid her right arm across the top of the oak stump next to the knife and she placed her forehead on her left hand at the edge, closing her eyes.
Her new husband held her right forearm tight and muttered words she recognised by the shape they made in the air and others that she did not recognise.
Her apprenticeship had come to an end just the previous day, with the words, “Katherine, you now know all that I know about our craft.” A flicker of doubt crossed her mind and she frowned as she realised if she knew all he did, she would recognise all the words in the ceremony he performed over her hand.
She moved, lifting her head to question him. He looked at her momentarily and then brought down the razor edged blade of the heavy ceremonial knife onto her neck. Her eyes widened in the shock of betrayal, a tiny murmur of surprise was cut off below the blade and never made it to her ears.
She did still hear though. She heard her body half slump, held only by her right arm and her ruined hand. She heard the blade once more and her arm was freed. She heard it thump onto the forest floor, preceded by her upper body.
Her eyes still saw. She saw her husband take her useless hand and hold the bleeding base over the largest of the candles in order to seal the stump. She saw her body lifeless on the ground. She saw him turn to her head and his hand passed over her eyesight to lift her head by the tresses of red hair, already matted with her life-blood. She saw him kiss her lips and as her senses at last departed, she saw him laugh.
I have a feeling for how difficult it is to edit your own work. For me, I am my own worst critic and editing for me will be very difficult...
You need to take your time and take a step back from it before you can begin.
Leave your piece a little while and go back to it with fresh eyes.
Thanks for the advice.
That totally surprised me. I bet a lot of people were surprised. The editing is remarkable, I still do not really understand it, a few words stricken here, a few words modified here, and a few words added here and there, and boom a much more concise,(even if longer) story. Simply amazing.
Sometimes it just comes to me what needs changing and I can read the story and edit as I go (with other writers, usually). With my own writing, I study the sentences and the structure before making the changes.
nice
hi i am from india
follow me
Thankyou for sharing @michelle.gent
hiii dear @michelle.gent, nice effort bcz writting a story is not done by everyone only creative minded person do that, you wrote very well no doubt you have writting skills.i support and appreciated your efforts. keep it up. FOLLOW.
Thank you.
https://steemit.com/life/@steemitglass/story-life-changing
Read this you may like
I am a beginner follow me and upvote me
I like your post. @michelle.gent I have followed you
I pictured the actions in my head!
Love the descriptions.
I can relate so well with the way you edit.
Perfect! That's my method of writing. I have to get the images out of my head and into the readers' heads :)
Wow thanks for sharing this. I wont become a better editor over night, but hope to take some of the changes you made in the stories with me and become a better editor.
I like how you took some sentences and made them shorter and some longer to make the story/paragraph flow better.
Yes, it's knowing what works, I think. Not only will you be a little more able to edit your own work, making it easier for the editor, later, you'll make your writing tighter too.
This post has been ranked within the top 80 most undervalued posts in the first half of Oct 07. We estimate that this post is undervalued by $14.52 as compared to a scenario in which every voter had an equal say.
See the full rankings and details in The Daily Tribune: Oct 07 - Part I. You can also read about some of our methodology, data analysis and technical details in our initial post.
If you are the author and would prefer not to receive these comments, simply reply "Stop" to this comment.
https://steemit.com/life/@steemitglass/story-life-changing
Read this you may like
I did like the stories the first time I saw them - on Facebook.
The stories are not yours and you've not even copied them well.
I've flagged you for spamming my post. I'm getting tired of this disrespectful behaviour. I suggest you Mute me so you don't see my posts and won't be tempted to come back.
It's getting out of hand how they come to someone's post and start spamming. You did well by flagging the person
Seriously they need to learn
Yes, thank you. I'm getting a bit annoyed with it all now. Someone is encouraging people to come here because of the money and that's the whole goal for them.