Fixed up 17 pages so far this holiday weekend and plan on tackling a few more before the night ends. I envision the final tally for the four day sweep in the mid-twenties. Managed some fun during the time off, as well.
The deeper these edits go, the shorter the chapters become. Thus far, considering the edited sections, the page count per chapter averages out at 3 1/2. Keep in mind, among them is a smattering of singles and doubles. When it comes down to it, just one paragraph rich in progression can drive a chapter home, though I haven’t done that yet. I could. But there’s more than raw math behind the brevity.
First, that amount of text for a scene feels right for me, and the way I write. Partly this is the byproduct of evolution – lots of writing makes a writer better. Developing a story telling voice has taken the better part of four years now, and I have concluded that less is more of a good thing in my situation. Narrative blurs where pages and pages go by and nothing changes no workie for me. Unchecked, they make me want to chain the writer to a couch and set their fucking house on fire. Perhaps not always in that order, either.
Brevity organically contains the amount of personal indulgences. Those diversions are little inside references significant only to me. Likely no sane person would ever figure out the meaning of these, nor would they probably waste their time. The end result a reader less patient with the writer. The cure is so simple. In many cases, short chapters preclude indulgences altogether. Very good. Because the longer a scene runs, the more likely I insert myself, instead of the characters surprising both of us with the unexpected. Tragically — my friends support me on this confession — I’m not interesting. Therefore, I climb in the backseat, ride, and listen. When lightning strikes, I get a few things onto the page.
Short chapters also trap doubling down. Whenever a sentence appears multiple times in a different form, no matter how well restated or right the context suggests the second go round might be, the net result weakens both occurrences. Well crafted repetitions of these sort are very seductive at first glance, and easy to overlook. Often this sin thrives in scenes with little to no motion. Like a defense mechanism, doubling down tries to mask plot or character weakness by overcompensating with another strength, and might temporarily distract the reader from the problem. But in the end, the story suffers. Oh, how many times I have committed this crime.
And for these and other atrocities, editing serve as its own atonement.