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What Are Edits Like?

Shannon Stacey blogged a few days ago about her edits, and I loved her post so much I decided to write one too. I’ve had the honor to work with six editors over the years, and every single project — even if I’ve worked with that editor before — has required a different amount of work.

Just last week, I made two full editing passes through Return to Shanhasson, one of my longest novels ever (over 100K). Despite its size, the edit process was quick.  My new editor, Lisa, requested several word changes or clarifications, but over all, I didn’t need to add any new scenes or delete anything major. I’ve lived in the Shanhasson world the longest, and when I wrote that book, I didn’t need an outline. I didn’t need a series bible. It’s all in my head, because I’ve dreamed and breathed it for years. Writing Return was almost stream of conscious writing, and thanks to my diligent beta readers, most typos or places of hesitation/confusion were already resolved.

On the other hand, I also began working on Golden edits last week for Alissa (which incidently went through pretty much the same round of beta readers). This work is much shorter (right at 20K), and I’ve spent DAYS on it.  Okay, two weeks.  Not constantly, obviously, but days of thinking about the characters and how to add some build-up at the beginning.  Mulling over clarifications. Researching a few touches to make this story even more special.

I’ve made four major revision passes.

The first time, I accepted or addressed all the easy changes.  Took one evening.

The second pass, I went through her comments one by one and made those changes.  Sometimes it was a simple rewording of a sentence; other times I deleted or added clarification to support motivation.  Even though some of these changes were literally a single word, they took much more thought to ensure I made the correct choices.  This pass took me three evenings.

The next pass was the hardest. After thinking about it for almost a week, I came up with some new scenes I wanted to add at the beginning.  Adding is HARD, let me tell you.  My mind decided I’d already told this story — why did I want to make up more?  Those details had to be meaningful, or else why hadn’t I already written it?  Of course writing the new sections was only the beginning.  You know that whole butterfly effect:  make a simple change in the first chapter and every other chapter has a trickle-down change.  I worked all weekend and Monday night on these changes, well past my bedtime because I was almost done.

The final pass has actually been numerous read throughs.  Before I send a book back in, I like to create an “approved” copy with all comments deleted and all changes approved.  Then I read for clarity and consistency.  Inevitably, I also find a few formatting issues introduced through track changes (it’s sometimes hard to see double periods, misplaced spaces, etc.).  Since I’d added several sections early on, I read them the most to make sure I hadn’t introduced any other issues.  e.g. if I’d corrected filter words through the rest of the manuscript, it’d be stupid to turn it back in with filter words reintroduced in my new sections. What had I learned then, hmmm?

Literally, I’ve created and read at least six approved copies with minor changes each time.  I promised myself that I could only read it one more time today and then I must submit it, or I’ll just keep tinkering.

Here’s a few stats you might find interesting.  In this 66 page document:

  • Alissa made 115 comments.  A few said something like “Nice line.”  Many others said “awkward, please reword.”
  • The first page has 6 comments and several red changes.
  • There were only 8 pages with no comments or changes. (Athough I might already have accepted her changes on these pages.)
  • In the first pass alone, I deleted about 500 words.
  • In the third pass (when I added new sections at the beginning), I ended up adding about 1700 words back.

I don’t consider myself a beginning writer, so why so many changes?  Did I rush to submit crap?  Absolutely not! 

For one thing, the shorter medium can be much more challenging than a longer novel with plenty of room to dedicate to character arcs, romance arcs, setting, worldbuilding, motivations etc.  For another, this is an entirely new series and technically an entirely new genre (although I’ve written several stories with BDSM).  This story is based on Imperial China, loosely, the Tang Dynasty.  Hello, how much do I know about Imperial China?  Other than my own fascination as a reader, not much. 

I wanted this story to have a historical feel, even though it’s more of a fantasy. I’m not a historical writer, though.  So sometimes I used words that were a bit too modern.  Or I didn’t quite have enough Chinese culture touches (that’s why I did a little more research this week). In trying so very hard to not make cultural or historical mistakes, I committed a few writing sins that I haven’t made in ages (can you say dangling modifers?  *hangs head in shame*).

So this round of edits was WORK.  Wonderful work.  Yes, I’ve been a little stressed and frantic.  Yes, I’ve had moments of doubt (why do you think I haven’t submitted it yet?).  Honestly, it doesn’t matter how many manuscripts I’ve turned in, that first sight of all those red corrections and hundred+ comments makes my stomach sick. It’s scary and uncomfortable. I begin to wonder why the heck the editor accepted the story if it needed so much work.

It’s important for me to note that when I turned this manuscript in for consideration, I was pleased with it.  I’d finished several rounds of my personal revisions on it, and at least three other writers/readers had helped me with it at various points.  I write cleanly, so the document wasn’t riddled with typos.  If I’d chosen to self-publish it (without the guidance of a developmental/content editor, which is different than a line editor), I might have made one more pass after a month or so, and then I would have released it.

That’s why editors are worth their weight in gold.

With Alissa’s help, this story is going to shine as golden as Jin’s eyes. Errr….after I read it just one more time!

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Good News Monday

This week my good news means lots of work!

  • We made another quick pass through Return to Shanhasson – and I turned in the FINAL copy.  Wheeee!  Now waiting on cover and formatting.  I’ll keep you posted on the official release date.
  • I’ve been hard at work on edits to Golden, my next Carina release too.  I’m adding a bit more build-up to the beginning, so more Jin and Emperor time! Lots of work yet but the story is getting better and better by the moment.
  • We survived Spring Break without another trip to the ER!

What’s your good news today?

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Good News Monday

Prayers to everyone in Japan after the devastating quakes and tsunamis.

On a personal note, it’s been a full and exciting week!

  • I’ve now lost 21 pounds!
  • Those of you anxiously awaiting Return to Shanhasson:  I not only received editor notes, but was also able to get them turned back in this weekend!  We’re one step closer to getting the Shanhasson series wrapped up!
  • I also received Golden edits last week and I’ve been thinking about ways to add some sensual details to the beginning of the novella.  I’ll be deep in revisions the rest of this week to get them turned back in by 3/23.
  • I’m still looking for pictures of Sig for my Romance Trading Cards.  Eventually I’d like to get cards made for all my books/series, but that will take some doing.  Especially when finding Sig (and Gregar) was so hard.

How about you – what are you looking forward to this week?

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Sig Finalists

Thank you to everyone who’s been helping me look for Lord Sigmund Regret.  Here are ones that seem to almost work.  They’re still not right (but I don’t think I’ll ever find the perfect picture).  Which one do you like the best?

Vintage Man in Top Hat (vintage clothing but not much in the face)

Fausto (no vintage clothes but right color hair and interesting face)

A Pleasure (vintage but more renaissance or pirate clothing, interesting face; not sure how easily I’ll be able to get permission to use)

Young Vintage Man (nice clothes, interesting face, but he’s awfully young!)

Any other recommendations?  Do any of these scream SIG to you?

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Good News Monday

I have three main things to share that are super good!

My back is better.  Whew!!!  I still have some muscle soreness around my waist and lower back but nothing like it was.  I even got my pants and shoes on today without wanting to cry!  Hot whirlpool tub helped along with the heating pad, but probably the best thing were cushions to help me sleep.  We took the cushions off the loveseat and I rested my calves on them at night, taking the pressure off my lower back so I could sleep.  The very next day I could get up without wincing and hunching over, and after two nights, I didn’t even need the cushions any longer.

I got a ton of plotting done on Phantom this weekend!  That Man had to work Saturday, so I moved our laundry day up and stayed downstairs for a couple of hours to manage the loads.  It was rainy and chilly, so the kids stayed inside watching movies and playing on my computer, while helping me get the loads up the stairs.  Princess even folded a mountain of laundry for me!  Meanwhile, in between each load, I worked on paper using my spreadsheets to take three characters through the Emotional Toolbox and then sketched out Acts 1 and 2.  I have notes for Act 3 too but I need to flesh them out a bit more.  Then I’ll make a neater version of the plot with more detail, and I’ll be ready to DRAFT!  Yay!  It feels like months since I’ve had any decent production!

Golden’s release date is scheduled for August 29th!

What’s your good news today?

P.S. Don’t forget to vote for The Romance Reviews’ Best of 2010!  HURT ME SO GOOD has been nominated in the Erotic Non-Traditional Lifestyle category!

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Informal Survey and March Plans

Ouch, ouch, ouch.  While taking care of the dog, I’ve pulled or strained my lower back.  I was hoping it would be better by now but it’s still sore enough that I wish my heating pad was permanently attached to my chair.  Pulling on pants and shoes has been especially challenging.  Hopefully the tightness will settle down and I can get back to normal!

Informal survey:  I’m trying to decide how much more of the free-read prequel to write.  I had originally planned to cover all the details of Lady Wyre’s escape plan and possibly Lord Regret’s recovery, but I’m so happy with how the last section ended on Friday that I’m tempted to stop there.  If I continue, I’m not sure WHERE to stop.  I mean, there’s a reason I started Lady Doctor Wyre where I did — because the other things are just events.  Backstory.  I’m not sure how interesting people would find it and the characters aren’t changing so much as surviving. 

If you’re interested in reading more details, please holler.  Otherwise I might just end the free read with last Friday’s section and move on.

Speaking of moving on, my March plans revolve primarily around Phantom.  I pulled out all my notes from Dec/Jan and found them sadly lacking.  I don’t know why I kept so much of the idea in my head instead of on paper.  Argh!  So I have a lot of catching up to do – specifically detailed plotting.  I don’t know that I’ll be in a position to draft this month or not.  We’ll see.  I do at least have a plan in mind for what I want to do with this series.  My goal is to write up a detailed 3-novella (30-40K each) proposal that can be submitted with the first novella (Phantom).  We all know how much I looooove to write synopses.  *dies*

I may have revisions to Return to Shanhasson and Golden later this month to work around (editor revisions always get first priority). 

I’d also like to get Lord Regret’s Price plotted (again, it’s all in my head, which is a dangerous place to be – my memory isn’t what it used to be!).

So another full month!

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Friday Snippet: Lady Wyre’s Regret

Continuing the free read prequel to Lady Doctor Wyre (first draft).  Part 1, part 2, part 3 if you need to catch up.

There were a million and one details to planning one’s own assassination and Charlotte daren’t miss a single one, else find herself locked in the Tower of Londonium for the rest of her long and miserable life.  While planting bribes all over Town to keep the Queen’s Ravens busy for months if not years attempting to track down her so-called assassin, she endured countless fittings on what would surely be the gown of the century.  My death will be a remarkable spectacle, so naturally my gown must be as memorable.

With a critical eye, she examined her reflection in the tall mirrors, twirling slowly so she might see the fall of fabric from all angles.  She’d chosen an eye-popping scarlet silk that would be scandalous in its own right.  Combined with the severely tight corset and plunging neckline, she’d catch everyone’s attention from the moment she stepped outside her door. 

The white feather accents were a touch too eccentric and ostentatious for her personal taste, but she intended to make a statement.  If red represented the Razari blood, then white would remind the queen of House Wyre’s dove.  The Queen’s Ravens might…would…tear Wyre apart, but Britannia would only see snowy pure white splattered with blood.

I’m far from innocent.  My technology made all this possible.  She forced herself to keep staring at her reflection, even though the sight made her throat burn with bile.  I have to find a way to make this right.  To stop Majel once and for all.  But how?

Something jabbed into her side hard enough she stiffened. 

“Lady Wyre, I presume?”

She recognized the man’s smooth, cultured voice and her heart beat ramped into deep-space full throttle.  Since she intended to give Britannia a solstice eclipse celebration they’d not soon forget, she’d chosen the flashiest, most well-known assassin she could find.  Lord Sigmund Regret was renowned throughout the galaxy as much for his impeccable manners and taste in clothing as for his murdering ability. 

Even more importantly, he specialized in accepting detailed requirements in his contract for how the death should occur.  Supposedly, he’d once killed a lady with her very own corset at her disgruntled lover’s request.

She stiffened her spine and stared coolly back at his reflection solidifying behind her.  If he tries to kill me with my corset, he’ll be sorely surprised.

“You’re early, sir.”

As if she’d managed to surprise him, a small smile hovered on his lips but the pressure didn’t lessen against her ribcage.  “Indeed, since this is a challenging assignment, I thought I’d best slip inside the Britannian grid early.  I’m still not sure whether we’ll be able to slip out entirely undetected.”

She arched a brow at him.  “That’s your concern, for which I’m paying you most handsomely.”

“You’re paying me to make it look like you’re dead, Your Grace.”  He matched her arrogant, high-bred tone perfectly.  “Sneaking you out of Britannia under Queen Majel’s nose is not my usual sort of job.”

“Well, it’s a very good thing you’re the best assassin for hire, then, yes?”

He chuckled, his bright blue eyes gleaming in the mirror with amusement, but his left hand casually wrapped around her throat.  He didn’t apply pressure to her windpipe, but he made it very clear he could snuff her life out before she could open her mouth to scream. 

Little does he know that screaming for help is not my forte.

“Perhaps I’m thinking the queen might pay me even more if I take care of her problem instead of helping you escape her wrath.  It would certainly make it easier for me to escape Britannia intact.”

“If escape,” she said with a deliberate curl of distaste on her lips, “is your only concern, then perhaps you shouldn’t have been so foolish as to accept my payment, which enabled my sniffer to locate your private bank account.” 

He opened his mouth, no doubt to retort that he had numerous such bank accounts, so she pushed on without giving him the chance. 

“If you’d done your research on me beforehand, then you would know that I have a penchant for being extremely nosy and plotting with deliberate forethought to ensure my desired outcome.  Of course, my sniffer has been busy backtracking to your other personal accounts as well.  I’ve already located six such accounts scattered throughout the galaxy.  If I don’t transmit the all-clear signal to my sniffer within twenty four hours, every single account you possess will suddenly be flagged for Britannian investigation.  No doubt news of Lord Regret’s cowardly failure to uphold his contract as promised will be the talk of the galaxy for years to come.”

His jaws worked, his face darkened, and his eyes glittered with malice.  “Maybe I’d simply enjoy killing you.”

She let a careless—if slightly breathy—laugh escape.  “You’re welcome to try, sir, but I think you’ll find that you chose a most unlikely entrance for your knife.”  He poked hard enough she grunted, but the blade couldn’t penetrate her corset.  “Again, even modest research would have confirmed that I also enjoy experiments and inventions, especially ones that might save my life.  I knew this event would be risky and so reinforced my corset with steel plating to protect my vital organs.”

He stepped close enough behind her that his heat penetrated the thin silk of her gown.  His breath caressed her bared neck and ear.  “Aren’t you afraid of me at all?”

“Yes, I am.”  A frisson of awareness zinged down her spine.  Danger, excitement, she wasn’t sure.  As finely dressed as any Britannian lord, this man could be her contemporary in Society.  If they’d met a few years ago, he might have been the one to convince her to surrender to matrimony.  He certainly intrigued her like no one else she’d ever known.  “But I’m more afraid of Queen Majel.  I shan’t allow her to win.  Fear makes me sharper, smarter, and all the more dangerous, Lord Regret.”

“Sigmund,” he sighed against her ear.  His grip on her throat turned to a caress, a gentle glide of fingers that made her skin tingle.  “You’re one hell of a woman, Your Grace.”

“Please call me Charlotte.”  Holding his gaze in the mirror, she gave him a slow, sensuous smile that made his brilliant eyes flare.  “I regret so many things.  Saving Queen Majel’s life.  The wretched things for which she’s allowing my research to be used.  The millions of deaths on Razar.  I don’t know how I’ll ever sleep again, worrying how many more planets will suffer the same demise.  Once I’m free of Britannia, I’ll never be the Duchess of Wyre again, which I won’t regret in the slightest.” 

“Call me Sig, and I’ll call you Charlie.”  Winking at her in the mirror, he settled his palm lower on the creamy expanse of skin bared by her gown.  “Your invention has a most regrettable design flaw.  This corset fails to protect your heart.”

She laughed and stepped out of his embrace.  “My heart needs no such protection.  Come, then, Sig, and allow me to share the plans I’ve made thus far.  I agree wholeheartedly that escape from Britannia will be the most challenging contract you’ve ever accepted.  You won’t regret taking my case, will you?”

“I’ll have no regrets with you.” 

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Friday Snippet: Lady Wyre’s Regret

Continuing the free-read prequel to Lady Doctor Wyre .  This snippet is a little long but there was no good place to break.  In this section, Sig (aka Lord Regret) is introduced to a stranger who may be familiar to some of you who’ve read the The Shanhasson books.  If you need to catch up, part 1 and part 2.

If people thought the hardest part of an assassin’s job was the killing, they’d be dead wrong.  For Sig, it was the endless waiting for his next contract. 

Wallowing in grim regrets, he tossed back another shot.  As the years went by, he’d discovered that his memories became harder to dull with mere alcohol.  His numerous killings didn’t torment him.  No, a more dreadful guilt weighed upon his chest, suffocating him more and more each day.  Only killing managed to blot that darkness out for a short while, and not even the most famed assassin in the universe could kill every single day, not if he wanted to be well paid for his work.

So he found himself alone and desperately drunk in the Black Stump Saloon at the edge of what the locals called the Outback, a wasteland of barren, torn ground already raped of its resources to supply the planet’s main port and only—but mega—city, Sydney.  Absolutely nothing on the surface of Terra Australis made the planet worth inhabiting, but the deep, rich veins of gold, diamonds, and ore certainly did.  The wealth of natural resources combined with the depth of those veins and the harsh living conditions made for a most excellent penal colony.

Every port had a place so dark and disreputable that its own inhabitants were afraid they’d get their throats slit if they ever stepped foot in side.  Thieves, rebels, and wanted criminals somehow managed to find their way to these hellholes as effortlessly as homing pigeons flew home to their coop.  On a planet of convicts, their harsh keepers, and a handful of men so desperate to make a pound or two that they’d work side by side with the worst murderers and thieves in the galaxy, the Black Stump Saloon was especially dangerous.

Alien-made rotgut burned like acid down his throat.  Flames crackled through his veins, cramping his muscles, but he still gave a jerk of his head to the shaggy, unkempt barkeeper for another round.  His body might be feeling the nasty affects, but his mind remained wretchedly clear.

If even the foulest whiskey in the most vermin-filled bar in the universe can’t help deaden the memories any longer, then I’d better get busy finding the best way to stop my breathing for good.

“Be wary, my friend.” 

The stranger’s voice drew his attention to his left.  A man slid up to the bar beside him, so silently that even the barkeeper—who carefully kept the entire bar in his line of vision at all times—involuntarily jerked back.

Dark, gleaming eyes met Sig’s and not even a sardonic wink could disguise the man’s silent threat.  Instantly, every cell in his body went on high alert, causing another firestorm of agony to tear through his burning muscles.  That kind of lethal grace and unflinching stare meant only one thing.

This man is as good a killer as I am.

“Dying by Shee ale is a hard way to go.  I’ve seen men tearing their own skin off, trying to make the burning sensation end.  If you really want to die, there are much easier ways to accomplish it.”

The implication that he would certainly be able to accommodate a death wish gave his words a cold, heavy weight.  Sig didn’t allow his body to tense with alarm, but he mentally took a quick inventory of the weapons he had on his person.  Perfect for throwing, thin silver blades were strapped to each wrist beneath his coat.  He had a longer, heavier dirk tucked down his spine in a back harness, and two more throwing blades in each boot.  Not to mention the lazor surely stashed beneath the bar.

Of course an assassin’s body was his best weapon.  While Sig took great pride in his agility and quick-handed strikes, he wouldn’t be able to surprise this man, who undoubtedly outweighed him by at least thirty stone.  The man was solid muscle and topped him by another foot, yet moved with the silent glide of a predator on the hunt.

Why haven’t I ever heard of him before?

Using his best high Society voice which had made him famous, Sig drawled, “If you can recommend another way to dull painful memories, sir, then I would love to hear it.”

The stranger’s dark gaze flickered over him, so sharp and deep that Sig unconsciously held his breath.  “Ah, you have my sympathies.  I know what it’s like to be haunted by a living nightmare.”

He gave the barkeeper a short nod and the man brought two steaming mugs.  Sig smelled the mug suspiciously.  No alcohol.  He took a hesitant sip and shuddered at the dark, bitter taste.  “What is this, witch’s brew?”

The stranger laughed as though he’d made a fine joke.  “Merely a drink to help combat the Shee ale.  If we decide to test each other’s knives, I want you to be at your best instead of dulled by drink.”

Since this man obviously cared little for polite Society, Sig forgot niceties.  “Who the hell are you?”

“No one you’ve heard of.  No one you would or should know.”

“But you know who I am?”

“Of course.  Everyone in the galaxy has heard the tales of your marks.”

At least the man hadn’t said his name aloud.  Sig wouldn’t mind a drunken brawl or a nice, juicy contract so impossible no other assassin would attempt the mark, but he would rather not have to kill his way out of the Australis prisons because this fool talked too much.

I’m the bloody fool who decided to risk a drink at the Black Stump when there are countless dives where I could have indulged without a super-secure prison only paces away.

Pain banded his tight chest.  It hurt to breathe.  Hurt to think.  Killing helped dull the pain and keep the nightmares at bay, but he couldn’t…

A loud thwack jerked his head up.  The stranger had slammed the tip of his knife into the top of the bar.  In size, the blade wasn’t that impressive, only as long as his hand, but that edge gleamed in the light, wicked sharp.  The hilt was smooth, aged ivory, darkened over the years by sweat. 

Or perhaps blood.

“A word of advice, my friend.”  The man’s eyes flickered in the dimness like flames licking red-hot coals.  Sig glanced about quickly but didn’t see any fire that would have reflected in the man’s eyes like that.  “Never accept a contract on the woman you love.”

Sig couldn’t help the smirk twisting his mouth.  “That is something I’ll never have to fret about, for I’ve never met a woman I could ever love more than my work.”

Giving him an equally arrogant grin, the man tugged his blade loose and let the knife roll across his palm, back and forth, effortlessly controlling the knife without even looking at it.  “So I thought.”

A vibration in Sig’s pocket made him draw a quick, hopeful breath.  He drew the device out and scanned the incoming message.  “Excellent.  A new job.  I’ve got to go.”

The man nodded and sheathed the blade on his hip.  “Another time, then.  I’d enjoy testing your blade.”

“You never told me your name,” Sig called after the man, trying to memorize his face and appearance so he could search for history on him later.  Long dark hair, dark eyes, and nasty blade.  That’s all I really know.  His accent is strange, but I can’t place it.

“My name doesn’t matter.”  The man paused at the door and glanced back, giving him another wink.  “I’m Shadow and Death, a killer, like you.  We can’t help but find each other again someday.”

“Thank you,” Sig whispered, but the man was gone.  Shaking his head, he stepped out of the main room, searching along the dark hallway until he found a secluded, quiet spot.  A supply closet.  A quick scan confirmed there were no listening or monitoring devices inside the room.

The sender’s message only included a House sign:  the white dove of Wyre.  Was that his contact…or the mark?  Slipping into Britannia would definitely prove a worthy challenge.  Their shields were tighter and more secure than the Australis prisons, keeping the unwashed masses out instead of locking them into their punishment.

He opened a secure channel to the sender.  Since he’d just received the offer, hopefully his contact would still be waiting.  His curiosity burned, a much better feeling than shortness of breath and desperate panic.

A woman’s face appeared on the screen, and not even the small monitor could diminish her classical grace.  The tilted angle of her chin declared her pride and royal breeding.  He’d never been introduced to the Duchess of Wyre, but he recognized her.  Smooth dark hair, chocolate eyes, in many ways a sister to the man who’d just left.  Impossible.  If that man was from Britannia then I’m a Razari lizard.

“Lord Regret, I presume.  Your reputation precedes you.”

Her voice matched those dark, chocolate eyes.  He inclined his head and allowed his own ancient bloodlines to deepen the pride in his voice.  “Your Grace, it’s my great honor to offer my blade in service to you.  Who’s your target?”

She smiled.  Sig’s eyes flared, his chest aching as though that stranger had buried his blade directly into his heart.  “I am.”