Editing Series: Writing is Four Function Math, Part 1

Over the next few weeks, I want to take you through the editing process. We’ll start with big picture items like conceptual work. Eventually, we’ll make our way into syntax and style.

Let’s talk math. Specifically, let’s talk about basic math: addition, subtraction, multiplication, division. Some folks may think of their writing as an algebraic equation where they solve for X. Some still may understand their work as a calculus problem set where they are seeking knowledge about change. Others may think in terms of geometry, where they contemplate the relationships between points, lines, and shapes. Others still think of trigonometry where they are curious about angles and their relationships to each other. I am sure a few of you are reading this and thinking “but my work is all of this!”

You’re right. Conceptually speaking, your work probably uses or has much in common with mathematics. But, your editing will bring you back to basics: addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division.

When editing, you want to start with your concepts. For academic writers, this is largely the argument. For non-fiction writers, this can be somewhat looser like the main point or the major concept you’re introducing. For fiction writers, this tends to be things like plot line or character development. You start here because these are the bare bones of the manuscript. Without these, you have no manuscript.

Unlike actual math though, there isn’t a precise order of operations to this. For those of you having negative flashbacks to PEMDAS, please breathe. However, I do recommend reading the manuscript from beginning to end, so that you imagine your ideal (most knowledgeable) and implied (most likely) reader.

Addition: Many of us are familiar with the particular writing or conceptual conundrums that force us to add to our work. Typically, we add to our work when there is a gap between ourselves and our ideal and/or our implied readers. For instance, the ideal reader of my poetry and essays knows my references and understands my sense of humor. Yet, even my ideal reader may forget the plot line to The Neverending Story or The Princess Bride. They may not always be amused by the things that I find funny. My implied reader may not know any of these things. I have to figure out a way to fill the gap. Sometimes that means adding a line so that someone can “picture it.” Eduardo Corral warned against writing the kind of poems that can be like descriptions of pictures only the poet sees.

In my academic writing, this means I decide whether to bridge the gap between myself and a reader with little to no expertise. I do not always make the decision to do so. Sometimes, I pitch to a more advanced reader. This too is a choice, but it is one you make based on where you’re being published and how accessible you wish to be. Keep in mind that accessible doesn’t mean easy.

Subtraction: I love it when children describe this action as “take away.” Five take away three is two. “Take away” seems to be the most appropriate way to describe what you’re doing when you subtract. You are, especially in terms of editing, taking away the things that you no longer need. The subtracted material is either redundant or extraneous. Redundant materials surface all over a piece of writing. In fact, one of my main complaints for certain fiction writers is that they over-explain a character’s mind or repeat memories without a difference. Keep in mind that it is useful to strategically repeat. But, repetition with a purpose is not the same as redundant. Redundant information tends to be too much of the same material too soon. For instance, if your character is anxious about their body, you can repeat this since it is an anxiety, but you don’t want to rehash a specific incident or thought without prompting. (I should pause here to say that is often how it happens in real life, but fiction can’t mimic real life all the time.) I often find that authors have redundancies when they haven’t figured out their organization or when they’ve Frankensteined several versions of a manuscript together. Sometimes the redundant material is standing in for a strategic repetition or an explanation.

You may also find yourself subtracting material if you have extraneous work. Recall last week’s newsletter about “The Discard Pile.” When you’re working on a manuscript, specifically one that has taken you a long time, you may have some material that fit for an earlier version and not the latest version. It may be an explanation, a scene, a counterargument, et cetera. Sometimes, the extraneous material can announce itself because it feels out of place. Other times, you need someone to tell you that it feels out of place. Subtracting extraneous material can often require another person’s perspective because we are usually too close to our ideas to figure out what is necessary and what is not.

Next week, we’ll talk about multiplication and division!