Julie Scudder Dearyan - 40 Summer Fun Ideas

Why I Hired a Professional Editor

I’m done with my quota of articles and devotionals for the day and feeling tired, sort of down, kind of snacky, and ready for my afternoon cup of Joe. In other words, I’m in a perfect fiction writing mood. I write better when I’m tired. This must be because when I’m sleepy, I’m less critical of my work and more willing to let the story flow.

I’ve been thinking about a character for almost two months. Faith Faye Fairhaven. I even have my title which I consider perfect, My Name is Faith but I Sure Don’t Have Any. I’m thinking of writing a series about women who hate their names because somehow the name they’ve been given doesn’t fit their perceived personality. And so a foster child turned Sous-Chef in Chicago popped into my head.

In two hours, I have completed my first chapter. My hands are shaking as I pull the pages from the printer. Yes! I pump my fist up and down. Faith is real, she’s strong and I want to write more, always a good sign. A few days later, I read through it again and share it with my writing group. Here’s a portion.

My tray wobbled as I walked past the pitted counter. Whoa. Better slow down. My name wasn’t Grace. Worse. It was Faith. I was only 15 minutes into my first waitressing job, and I hated my name worse than ever. What was faith anyway except a ritualistic prop? It hadn’t helped me yet. My luck, if you could call it that, was getting worse every second. I approached the table of four customers, that all looked the same to me except one wore a red Stetson. The color didn’t exactly match the magnet studded walls of Phil’s Magnet and Fry Emporium.

The smell of hot Crisco whizzed past me and I saw the back of Erma’s once white uniform go the next table. The woman was efficient beyond allowable standards. A human dynamo like Aunt Tabby, may she rest in peace. Erma had taken care of all of her tables and given me instructions at the same time. Just as easy as pie, though the expression was stupid. I had made one pie in my life. It took an eternity to peel the million required apples and a second eternity to get the flour, butter and water to stick together without making glue. But compared to my current circumstances of living at 118 Tin Lizzie and losing five jobs in five weeks, pie making had been easy.

There were some obvious problems. I had no clear motivation for Faith besides being down on her luck. In the first paragraph, I introduce someone wearing a red Stetson but don’t ground the reader at all as to who this person is (man or woman? Friend or foe? Tall of short?) and why he/she appeared in my story. In the second paragraph, I don’t introduce Erma very well though I give some interesting information about her. Then I bring up that Faith lives at 123 Tin Lizzie but I don’t mention that I mean she lives in her car which she nicknamed Tin Lizzie.

Confusion Reigns Supreme
At this point the reader is confused and so am I but then what else is new? I open my document and work at the chapter some more. Suddenly, I have a sister, a sister Faith has been looking for. I flesh them out and rewrite the chapter. Now those previous paragraphs read like this.

My tray wobbled as I walked past the pitted counter. Whoa. Better slow down. I approached four customers, who all looked the same except one wore a red Stetson which stood out against the walls covered with soda advertising magnets.

There were only two dinner choices. Praise be. Even though I normally had no problem coming up with the daily specials at Tres Capri, today I just hoped no one would ask to go light on the onions or for pumpernickel.

The smell of hot Crisco whizzed past and I saw the other waitress’ once white tights go the next table. Her shift had started just after I was hired and I quickly saw that she was efficient beyond allowable standards. Erma had taken care of all of her tables and given me instructions at the same time. Did it all just as easy as pie, though the expression didn’t make sense. Pies were not my forte at the culinary academy. It took an eternity to peel the million required apples and a second one to get the flour, butter and water to stick together without making glue. About three months into the course, I discovered how to make a chocolate soufflé and it should tell you how much I hated the pie experience when I found the glorified omelet easier to create.

I still didn’t explain about the Stetson and of course, I realized later that the Stetson had no significance to the story so I eliminated it. I felt I had enough information to go ahead and finish the book which I did in about three weeks. Then it was rewrite time. The place all writers go if they want to have someone besides their best friend read their books.

The Next Level
I combed the manuscript. I gave it to friends. I shared more chapters with my writer’s group. After several more revisions, I realized I was stuck. I didn’t really know what to do to bring the manuscript onward and upward.

A few days later, I emailed a writing friend in California my chapters. She said she loved the characters and the plot but that I sort of rushed along. She gave me some suggestions which I then implemented into the entire manuscript. I loved the changes and how much stronger everything was as I shared with my readers what I already knew in my heart about Faith.

Two weeks later, I decided to hire my writing friend. She has written oodles of books and I decided I might as well profit from her hard won experience. Currently, she is charging me a reasonable price to go through the book line by line.

Today, those paragraphs read like this.

I walked toward a softly angled woman with longish white hair.
“ Erma Lancaster,” she said to me in greeting. I smiled and looked into her blue eyes. Nice. The kindest eyes I’d seen in a long time. Something settled deep. Richland was my new home.

“ You must be the new girl. Faith something-or-other, Phil said.”
I grinned. “Faith Fairhaven.”

She filled a breadbasket with green-specked muffins. She caught me staring and held one up. “Zucchini. Mrs. Applegate makes them special for Phil.”

I placed a water glass on my tray and a basket of muffins. Zucchini. Maybe Phil’s had some class after all. Most diners I’d eaten in lately were lucky to offer eggs fried in margarine instead of Crisco. My tray wobbled as I walked past the pitted counter. Whoa. Better slow down. There were only two dinner choices: a patty melt or fish and chips. A year ago I’d had no problem coming up with the daily specials, with executive chef Hans Buford offering gentle guidance. Now I hoped no one would ask to go light on the onions or for pumpernickel instead of rye.

The smell of hot grease whizzed past as my new coworker, waitress extraordinaire, flew to the next table. Erma had taken care of all of her tables and instructed me on the finer points of waitressing at the same time. Did it all just as easy as pie. Now there’s an expression that doesn’t make sense. Pies were not my forte at the culinary academy—the place that really changed my job outlook. Thanks to a scholarship from my landlady, Mrs. Babbioni, the Chicago Culinary Institute had trained me enough so I could get a position at an up-and-coming restaurant in Chicago. Praise be.

Like it happened five minutes ago, I remember the day we tackled pies. Apple, the quintessential American pastry. But it took an eternity to peel the million required and get the flour, butter, and water to stick together without creating glue. Three months later I discovered how to make a chocolate soufflé, and it should tell how much I hated the pie experience when the glorified omelet was much easier.

I just knew Erma could make a serious pie. And her crust wouldn’t crumble. My legs ached from standing, and I was sure that at any moment they just might crumble onto the linoleum.

The book has grown and changed as a result of my editor’s services. Although this is the fourth novel I’ve completed, it’s the first book that I’ve fully realized the power of rewriting. I know my Chick Lit novel, My Name is Faith but I Sure Don’t Have Any has a long way to go but I have found that using a professional editor has made this a smoother ride.