I am ripping my five-year-in-the-making novel apart in the edit. I do so love editing. Dialogue, descriptions, witty comments, all get turfed with abandon. They were great fun to write, but they don’t fit the novel now.
Don’t stop me before I kill again. **Mad Cackle**
The following is a brief example of what gets tossed asunder. My characters are visiting a Police Museum.
They leave the first room, cross the hall, and enter the second. Whereas most of the exhibits in the other room dealt with criminals and their crimes, here the displays concentrated on the police force and policing itself.
In the first room there did not seem to be a definite pattern to the displays. Here, things are set out in chronological order. There is some overlap, so not all are exact decade by decade. But most of the display segments do not stray by more than ten years, and are not forced into uniform-sized display footage.
“Which direction do you want to go?” asks Alison Alexandra.
“I’m more interested in the contemporary things.” Amanda points. “Except for that.”
“The Paddy Wagon?”
“Yes. Let’s go see it. Maybe we can get inside.”
“Maybe we’ll get arrested if we get inside.”
“Maybe they’ll take us away.”
“Then we will miss the ship.”
The paddy Wagon is a black box of a vehicle, large and hefty-looking. It is in the middle of the room, so visitors can walk around it. When they approach, they see it is on a raised platform, and each wheel rests on a metal plate.
“That looks to be the real deal,” says Amanda.
“That it does.” Alison Alexandra looks at the license plate. “It was on the streets in 1948.”
“Do you think it has been restored?”
“Well, I’m guessing it was solidly built at the time.” Alison Alexandra gives the back doors a thwack. “After all, it was a mobile prison.”
“Full of miscreants,” says Amanda.
“Yes. And no doubt rowdy.”
“If we get locked in, do you think we’d be rowdy?”
“Goes with the territory.”
“We could sing.”
“Sing and catcall,” says Alison Alexandra.
“You could do one.” Says Amanda, “And I could do the other.”
“Mix it up.”
“yes.”
“That would confuse the coppers.”
“They’d beat their nightsticks on the walls,” says Alison Alexandra.
“Maybe they would beat rhythm to our singing,” says Amanda.
“We could break out in “They call the wind Maria’.”
“’The Black Maria’,” says Amanda.
“I see you understand two part harmony.”
“And if I don’t,” says Amanda, “You could beat out a few bars.”
“That’s criminal.”
“So’s my singing,” says Amanda.
Unbeknownst to them, as they have been chatting, and peering into the windows of the vehicle, a door opened near the display of uniforms on manikins. A stout yet still powerfully-built man steps though. He stands amidst the manikins for a minute, realizing that he has not been heard. He decides he had better announce himself, before he frightens anyone.
“Now you two ladies are not going to be troublemakers, are you?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And here is the edit.
They cross the hall and enter the second room. Here the displays concentrate on the police force and policing itself.
In the first room there was no definite pattern to the displays. Here, things are set in chronological order.
“Which direction do you want to go?” asks Alison Alexandra.
“I’m more interested in contemporary things.” Amanda points. “Except for that.”
“The Paddy Wagon?”
“Yes. Let’s go see it. Maybe we can get inside.”
“Maybe we’ll get arrested if we get inside.”
“Maybe they’ll take us away.”
The Paddy Wagon is a black box of a vehicle, large and hefty. It is in the middle of the room, so visitors can walk around it. When they approach, they see it is on a raised platform, and each wheel rests on a metal plate.
“That looks to be the real deal,” says Amanda.
“It does.” Alison Alexandra looks at the license plate. “It was on the streets in 1948.”
“Do you think it has been restored?”
“I’m guessing it was solidly built at the time.” Alison Alexandra gives the back doors a thwack. “After all, it was a mobile prison.”
“Full of miscreants,” says Amanda.
“And no doubt rowdy.”
“If we get locked in, do you think we’ll be rowdy?”
“Goes with the territory.”
“We could sing.”
“Sing and catcall,” says Alison Alexandra.
“You could do one,”says Amanda, “I could do the other.”
“Mix it up.”
“Yes.”
“That would confuse the coppers.”
“They’d beat their nightsticks on the walls,” says Alison Alexandra.
“Maybe they would beat rhythm to our singing,” says Amanda.
“We could break out in “They call the wind Maria’.”
“’The Black Maria’,” says Amanda.
“I see you understand two part harmony.”
“And if I don’t,” says Amanda, “You could beat out a few bars.”
“That’s criminal.”
“So is my singing,” says Amanda.
As they were chatting, and peering into the windows of the vehicle, a door opens near the display of uniforms on mannequins. A stout, yet still powerfully-built, man steps through. He stands amidst the mannequins for a minute, realizing he has not been heard. He decides to announce himself, before he frightens anyone.
“Now you two ladies are not going to be troublemakers, are you?”
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