Depending on the metric standard, I close the long holiday with twenty-six pages of revised material. The ideal was thirty, but I’ve only visited that island, never lived there, so twenty-six is it. My eyes can tolerate very little more screen time or the sight of the Open Office interface. A bit more about the standards of measurements and why it matters to the total follows. First, though, consider the type of demons I wrestled this weekend.

How to get a page from pre-Team Eagle Eye to Final Round Draft varies widely. At its core, the present condition of a chapter is the most influential factor as how long a fix takes. Really, that’s probably number one and two. When the material rests on a good foundation, making it better is not so hard. Almost fun, even. I had some of that. Satan has a sense of humor.

Less fun, and more prevalent are errors of context. As happens to me often, a passage is one hundred percent right–let’s say ninety-eight, there is no perfection–but in an awkward spot. Or it’s very close, but a single sentence knocks the paragraph out of whack. However, that exact sentence works nicely three chapters later. Unbelievable, but it occurred so many times, I stopped questioning why and just chalked it to the golden rule of novels.

Rarely do sentences surface in the most effective chronology. Snapping the jigsaw piece into a better fit can consume tremendous amounts of time, because it requires more than just copy-paste. Once I move the sentence or passage into what looks like its true home, the new kid on the block impacts the adjacent sentences or paragraphs. Perhaps it suggests another plot point for a later day. In extreme cases, it spawns a major turning point that requires set up earlier in the story. Which in turn, impacts the scene where the new kernel lands. And so on. This little demon cried for food quite a lot.

And then there’s the worst kind of revision: Hit-chuck-and-run. The scene reads well. It is interesting. Fine writing might bind the paragraphs together. But, whoops, the gem has nothing to do with the story. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong novel. Passage screwed. Just beat it like an insolent Beelzebub and toss it to the curb, because it’s not getting any better.

Now, to close the thought from the first paragraph, had there been a few less hit-chuck-and-runs this weekend, the tally might have ended on a very different number. Essentially I ran out of gas and stopped in the middle of a scene. Since the chapter remains unfinished, none of it counts toward the total. Other individuals might include at least a portion.

I just suck at being a page whore, I guess.