The first sentence of Scene 2 is now the first sentence of the book.  And while it’s a perfectly serviceable sentence, it is frankly not worthy of that honor.  So, Liveblogging Thursday today will consist of Getting This Right.  My plan is to generate many first sentences, perhaps even several first paragraphs.  And then pick the one that is most stellar.

3:00 PM: A late start again.   Perhaps I should just start redefining 3:00 as the beginning of my work day.  There’s really nothing standing in the way of that.

3:04 PM: Eating a broccoli salad while I work.  I made a lot less dressing this time, reasoning that a broccoli salad dripping with mayo and sugar sort of ceases to be healthy.  It turns out a broccoli salad not dripping with mayo and sugar sort of ceases to be delicious.  So, that’s a disappointment.

3:11 PM: You know what everyone hates?  A blank page waiting for one perfect sentence to come down from on high and make it beautiful.

4:12 PM: Several imperfect sentences later, I am feeling a bit lost.  I’m going to chill for a bit.  Back in an hour.

5:20 PM: Back.  All right, it is time to muscle through.  Ten first sentences.  Doesn’t matter whether they’re crappy or great, they just need to get done.

6:19 PM: Eight and a half sentences.  Remembering fondly that hour, around four, when I didn’t work but instead watched an old episode of DS9.  That was a halcyon hour of my youth.

6:28 PM: Ten sentences.  Do they all suck?

1. I stepped onto the platform in Chicago’s Grand Central Station.
2. A day and a half of travel had given me time enough to read Uncle Owen’s letter another twenty times.
3. A day and a half of travel had taken some of the gleam out of my eyes, but the moment we pulled into Chicago’s Grand Central Station, it was back.
4. The train ride from St. Eliphas, Iowa, to Chicago took a day and a half.  That was time enough for me to make friends with all the porters, mend a hole in my left stocking, and reread Uncle Owen’s letter another twenty times.
5. Even before I stepped onto the platform I knew Chicago was everything I’d hoped it would be.
6. Chicago.
7. Chicago smelled like no other place I had ever smelled before.
8. The first thing that happened to me in Chicago was a new sensation that came over me—a sense of my own smallness and insignificance in the face of this, the first truly big place I’d ever seen.  The second thing was a purse snatching.
9. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to make an appearance.
10. I stepped down onto the platform and tried to look like I belonged there.

Favorites are probably 4, 7, and 10.

8:12 PM: All right, I guess I have a beginning.  It’s a variant on sentence 10.  Needs to be polished up and such, but it’ll serve.

“I was terribly afraid of that dog.  I wasn’t afraid that it would bite me; I wasn’t afraid that it would scratch me.  I was simply afraid of it.”

That’s how I feel whenever I contemplate messing around with my book.

I’m not afraid that I will mess it up; I’m not afraid that I will be unable to execute my plans.  I am simply afraid of it.

Today I am taking a second (ok, thirty-fifth) look at the first scene.  It’s a good scene, a solid, character-setting scene, but I must admit that it is a touch backstory-heavy.  I’ve received comments about it in the past, and I’ve always looked at it and decided, “No, no, they’re wrong.  This is the perfect scene.  The scene.  It fits.”

And it does, but that is not enough.  Comments add up.  Today I finally decided to go ahead and see if it can’t simply be cut.

Which means reading over the first several chapters and making sure they still work without the scene.  Which they do, 95% of the time.  The other 5% can be easily polished smooth, but it means touching my novel.  Messing with it.  Taking it out of the Done pile and moving it back to the marshy no man’s land of Not Quite Yet.

This is not something I want to do.

And it has me surfing the web, writing this blog entry, doing everything except my assigned task.  All because of that fear, which is not even about any particular eventuality, but just about… it.  My book.

Rather than pushing that fear aside, I am trying to let it in.  Trying to deal with it.  Trying to gain a little more comfort with discomfort, you know?  Because being afraid is not the same thing as having a problem.

I feel like this is the sort of attitude that could revolutionize my life.  I’m cold?  Not the same thing as having a problem.  I’m tired?  Not the same thing as having a problem.  I’m not saying these things aren’t unpleasant.  I’m just saying it’s possible to know that you’re unhappy, while also knowing it won’t change your expectations for yourself.

Anyway, this first scene revamp is a thing I’m doing.  Which means eventually it will be done.  It’s just a matter of how long it takes me to get there.

But in fact, the three book analogy is a little more apt than that. It really is, I’m not kidding, like writing three books. The first book is the first infodump, those 75,000 or so words that sort of contain a plot. Out of that you pull the second book, the book that makes sense, the book where the gun your character acquired on page 50 doesn’t mysteriously disappear on page 200 just because you need her to be in danger. And finally you preen and polish your way to the third book, the book that has a theme, the book where relationships build the way they’re supposed to, and everything feels resonant and real.

For me, it was when I crossed that boundary from second book to third book that I began being able to actually hold the whole thing in my head. Suddenly gone from my mental canvas were all the little half-formed subplots and alternate courses I’d rejected along the way. I could remember where this bit was, where that bit ended up. And when I made a change to one scene, I had an instant mental map to the four other places I’d need to touch to make it work.

After a lot of that touching, and fiddling, and fussing, I’m ready to say that the third book is done.

I sent out query letters last night, but not before spending a long time worrying about it. I had two voices in my head. One said, “The book is strong. You know the book is strong. The query letter is strong. You have had your group look at it two times (which was perhaps excessive). The synopsis is strong. The first five pages are strong. For God’s sake, send it out and get it working for you.”

And then the other voice would say, “It’s mid-December. Everybody’s busy this time of year. Agents have parties to go to, presents to shop for, relatives to avoid discussing uncomfortable topics with. In short, they have lives. For all you know, they’re already checked out for the month. Do you really want your query to be one of the twelve hundred they come back to on January 2nd? Besides, if you wait and send it mid-January, you can spend another month worrying about whether the third sentence in paragraph 17 might have too many syllables.”

In the end, that last argument was the one that did it. The fact that I simply didn’t know what else I’d do to the book, besides fret over it, convinced me to send it out.

These days most people prefer e-queries, so that’s what I sent. And I already got one response, albeit a “I got your query letter and will review it” response. Which began with the words “This is not a form rejection.” Nearly stopped my heart. “Oh, my God, it’s a non-form rejection!” I thought. “I hate those too!”

Getting there.

1. Kitty Meets Fiore
2. The Magic Playhouse
3. Nino Says No
4. Aunt G, Kidnapper at Large
5. Big Boss Man
6. Lawyer Up
7. Getting an Earful
8. Gladys Takes a Licking
9, All Molled Up

and last, but definitely not least:

10. Cold Date

So I’ve taken a nice long break from active work, just reading my manuscript and making plans. And I’m finally ready with my Comprehensive Revision Plan.

Step #1: Read the book and make a list of all issues.
Status: 100 % Done
Notes: I thought there would be about 10 of these. Turns out there were 32.

Step #2: Figure out what to do about each issue.
Status: 70% Done
Notes: There are about six sticky issues remaining, and if I can figure those out, I’ll be golden. Mark has promised to help me, which is good, ’cause some of them have me in conniptions.

Step #3: Re-read Scenes 1-10. Revise them.
Status: 0% Done
Notes: It’s really important to keep reading the book in long sections, rather than just a scene at a time. You realize so much about characters that are inconsistent, issues that seem to fluctuate in importance to the protagonist, and other things that will be confusing to a reader.

Step #4-6: Repeat for scenes 11-20, 21-30, and 31-38.
Status: 0% Done
Notes: I suspect by the end there may be more like 42-45 scenes, as there are a few bits I want to add. In that case, this step may go on a bit longer than I plan (I’m currently hoping to get through 4 scenes per day).

Step #7: Polish tension
Status: 0% Done
Notes: I plan to look at each page and make sure that there’s something tense happening on it. And if there’s not, put it there. And if it’s there, heighten it.

Step #8: Polish prose
Status: 0% Done
Notes: The last step, just about making it all sounds pretty. And clever. And, when appropriate, funny.

So there you have it, Jane’s plan for novel revision. I’m hoping to turn this thing around pretty quickly and get it in the mail. I’m ready to have it working for me, instead of the other way around!