editing a mouth

and a manuscript

Nope, this isn’t a post about eliminating the f-word in writing (though I did do a search on one of my recent manuscripts as a routine check for repetitive words—eliminating a handful of fucks). No, this post you might file under “Do we really need to kill our darlings?” Can’t we simply pack new material around them and send them back into service?

My thoughts revolved around this question as I sat (patiently) in the dental hot seat, numbed and rubber-dammed, whilst the dentist jack-hammered my old crown and new decay from a battle-worn, upper right molar. “Good thing we got to this in time,” he muttered. “Not much tooth left here.”

Once he finished the drilling, and sucked out all the bacteria-laden crud, I sat for another 45 minutes while my new crown cooked in the dental Suzy-Bake-Oven—during which time I mistakenly glanced at my X-Ray, which loomed on a giant screen to the side of the chair. There it was—the nub of a tooth, staring at me like a bitch. Stupid toothlet.

“Eventually,” said the dentist, as he Gorilla-glued the enormous crown in place, “this’ll fall out, and you’ll need an implant. Might last six years. Or fifteen. Hard to tell.”

How reassuring!

But back to killing your darlings versus fixing them. As a developmental editor, one of the things I assess is the degree to which a given scene or character supports—or fails to support—the story’s arc as a whole. Not merely from a plot perspective, but whether the element works in terms of pacing and/or character development. How much heavy lifting does it do? Does it set up something crucial or significant to the storyline down the road? Occasionally, I might suggest that a character could be combined with another character. Or eliminated entirely. Sometimes, a character is simply in the way. Or, should be relegated to a non-POV status.

This is especially true if the character does not act as a primary obstacle (read, antagonist) to the protagonist’s goal, or as a catalyst to an emotional epiphany (read, love interest). Secondary characters (much like my intact wisdom teeth), often just fill space without doing any work. They may be clever, or act as a vehicle for the author’s brilliant repartee (always a red flag), but do little to generate reader intrigue, emotion or satisfaction.

Scenes, imho, should build narrative energy. Should plant questions in the reader, and enroll her in the puzzle that is your book or story. Always creating energy, never completing it (until the end).

Yes, friends, I was ruminating on this conundrum as the dentist edited my troublesome mouth, bolstering the bad tooth for its continued inclusion on my dental roster—its eventual retirement deemed a certainty, but still necessary for mastication. “Thank you Doctor,” I said, as I fumbled for my credit card (two grand!). “For not giving up on my molar just yet.”

I wish for you, dear readers, a tooth-decay-free summer, and the courage to know when to yank your darlings from your WIP.