Beginning the Final Draft
Finding the groove for the 10th and final draft of Hiram Falls, I have created a new opening, which has led to many changes within -- for the better.
Two of my key reader/editors in this Hiram Falls project — I call them my Yin (emphasis: depth, insight into the human condition) and Yang (clear structure, plot, strong characters) — have finally agreed on something, several somethings really:
While your opening is beautiful, almost poetic (their words, not mine), well, er, maybe it doesn’t quite work as an opening.
OK. I’d been thinking of changing it. I really had. So after several weeks of thinking about it, I did. Made a whole new one. And I really like it. (I snuck a draft to Yang who said, “Yes. Yes. Yes.”) That’s a Good start.
Then I realized what I had done: By changing the opening I’d also changed several of the most significant events in the story, turning points. And there was the whole time space continuum thing — the new opening now moved a bunch of the action up 10 years (the novel spans 56 years) and so that meant I had to change this over here, and that, and oh yes, I have to fix the reference over there, and oh my god, he wouldn’t even be an adult in this time frame and what am I going to do about that …
Which has led me to my latest discovery about writing a novel that is 125,000 words long: It’s like doing a jigsaw puzzle without the box cover. Or without all the pieces. Fortunately, and astonishingly (at least to me) I now have the entire novel in my head. Not word for word mind you, but the characters and their back stories, the plot sequence, the scenes, the moments, who does what to whom when. I guess familarity breeds, well, familiarity.
Yin and Yang agreed on something else, too. That maybe, just maybe it is time to comb out a little more of the Norman Rockwell stuff. Sweet as it is. As another of my readers put it, “more edge, Gevalt, more edge.”
I could say that after four+ years and nine drafts I felt embarrassed by that, perhaps even inadequate or inept or discouraged. It does sting. But more like a mosquito than a bee. But I take it for what it is. It’s the observations of people who are smart and caring who have devoted a heck of a lot of time and effort into helping me because they want the book to be, as another put it, “the best fucking book I’ve ever read.”
Whoa. So do I.
And I’ve had to learn, or re-learn, or remind myself, that sometimes it takes someone else to tell you what you knew inside already. Let me explain, particularly with the Norman Rockwell thing. This novel started in a curious way: It sprang from character sketches I’d written for stage, not from some compelling story line that had been floating around my brain.
I should add that the six sketches I wrote (which I’ve now published here for the first time) were presented by Vermont Stage Co. actors as part of its Winter Tales production. This is a feel-good holiday event so stories need to be tied in a nice bow at the end. To go along with the cocoa and ginger cookies. These sketches then became the backbone of the book.
Yet, deep inside, I’d felt conflicted: I loved the little gems. But they didn’t fit in the book. Too sweet. Too Norman Rockwell. The book — rural life for that matter — is more complex than nice, neat stories. There is much more hardship and brutality and thievery. Almost a balance to the goodness that lies within.
So I’ve cut them all. Or most of them all.
And that’s given me room to go after the most important critique of all from Yin and Yang: The reader has to care about the characters. They need to feel the characters, see how they change, hope they make it.
They’ve told me that before. But I haven’t achieved it yet. And this is the real work of this draft.
To develop the characters so that Yin and you and I really really care about them. We can see them, feel them, believe in them, hope for them. I want you to feel how they change.
But here’s another blessing: Not only do I have the book in my head, I have the characters in my heart, too. I am finally getting to know them, to feel them, to see how they act and react, to see how they grow, change, mellow or grow harder.
And I am interested in them. Deeply. I can’t stop thinking about them.
So I am revising in a new way: One character at a time. Instead of going through the book in sequence, the beginning to the end, I am picking one character and revising every section they are in. Then I move to another character.
It’s working.
I had worried that after 4+ years, after going through it so many times I would be getting bored with it. (Truthfully that’s how I felt for part of the previous draft.) But I’m am more interested, more invested than ever. Which is good. As I used to tell reporters when I was their editor, “If you aren’t interested in what you’re writing, how the fuck can you expect anyone to read it?”
So here’s the schedule of the 10th draft (which I am making my last): Cut the darlings (staged stories); write a new opening; rearrange all that has to be rearranged as a result; revise and deepen by going through the book one character at a time; polish the ending; send to agent.
A few notes:
A reminder: My current plan is to get an agent and try to sell this puppy to an Indie publisher.
Failing that, I will go back to my plan to self-publish here in a variety of formats and to also publish an e-book and paperback.
I am planning to finish this draft by early February when I will begin the search for an agent. If you know of a good one, please share me their name.
If you’ve liked any of what I’ve written in this space (I’m so glad) I’d love you to:
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Thank you. I am honored you made it this far.
I'm excited to read the completed project!!
Hello Geoffrey,
From the first time I heard your voice back in 2007, and listened to your description of the beautiful moment you shared with your daughter, Lily, I was hooked. I haven't stayed fully engaged in the process of the writing of your book, but I am watching because I know I will absolutely love it.
warm regards, Barb