Substantive editing sample 4:
The burly agent   (SPOILER)

In this mystery novel, I addressed a few continuity problems: How could an FBI agent who was “trim and a little under six feet tall” be strong enough to carry an unconscious and dead-weight protagonist a considerable distance? He would need to be “burly and over six feet tall.” Also, the author left the protagonist’s friend standing around without explaining what he did: he “went to his own room.” An FBI agent would need to show his ID to prove he was who he said he was. Untying the protagonist needed to be a more complex operation than the author portrayed it. I also suggested that the author insert cinematic “beats,” descriptive actions that interrupt long speeches—often a character-revealing gesture or grimace or perhaps some other action. You can see (in BLUE BOLDFACE ALL CAPS) how the author responded to my suggestions.

Spoiler alert: If you don’t want to spoil the suspense, Skip this sample and advance to the next one in the series.

This sample is presented here with the author’s permission.

Original
Click to go to the markup.

Donna’s Diner cleared out as we finished eating. Jefferson swallowed three Tums for dessert, then we walked back to the motel. As we approached, I saw a man walking toward my room. He was dressed in a black polo shirt, tan pants, and dark sunglasses, so I figured that the FBI had finally decided to visit me. I was right. “Wish me luck,” I said before walking over to greet the man, not sure whether I should be worried or relieved. “Mr. Dodge? I’m Agent Starck, from the FBI. I’d like to ask you a few questions.” “Sure. Why not? I’ve got nothing else going on. Do you want to go somewhere to talk or will this do?” I asked, pointing to my motel room. He said it would do. Starck was trim and a little under six feet tall. I didn’t see a single wrinkle on him, not in his clothes or on his face. His hair was thin and wiry, like a porcupine. I felt an urge to pluck out a strand and make a quill. When we got in my room, he looked around for a place to sit. “I only have one chair. Sorry.” He walked across over to the chair, picked it up, and tapped it on the floor a couple of times; one leg fell off. “That’s OK,” he said. “I can stand. I hear you had a conversation with the Moline police already.” He asked without looking at me; he was too busy scanning the room from top to bottom. “Yeah,” I answered. “Highlight of my week, but I’m not sure I’d call it a conversation.” “Well, now you get to talk to me, too.” He turned to face me. “Lucky me. Another highlight.” 200 pages later (THE SPOILER) “Frank. Frank! You OK?” I heard a familiar voice. Maybe there was an afterlife. Maybe that’s where I was. “Frank—talk to me.” The voice sounded like it was right next to me. I felt someone loosening the ropes around my shoulders. I blinked a couple of times, opened my eyes slowly and looked around. Jefferson was kneeling next to me, and Starck was on the ground in front of me, blood oozing out of his head. “Frank. Talk to me.” Jefferson’s hands were trembling, and his breathing was fast and shallow. “What happened?” I stammered. “I thought karma had finally caught up with me.” “I’ve got your back, remember?” He worked the rest of the ropes free. “Are you OK? I thought I was gonna lose you, brother.” “My head hurts like hell and my ass is cold, but I’m alive. Thanks to you,” I said, closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead. “How did you find me?” “A little luck and a lot of good police work,” Jefferson said. “When you didn’t answer my calls earlier this evening, I wasn’t too concerned, not at first. I know you can get lost in your work. You always get back to me, though; always. After spending most of my day combing through files and talking to people who knew the Starcks, I still hadn’t heard from you. I got worried. I went back to the motel around ten and saw that your car was still there. I pounded on your door and you didn’t answer, so I got the manager to open the door and let me in. I didn’t like what I saw: your laptop on the floor, car keys on the dresser, and pieces of rope on the floor. I was especially bothered by those pieces of rope. I knew you were in trouble, that someone had probably knocked you out and taken you away, and I was pretty sure it was Starck. I didn’t have much time to find you, so I took a chance that he had taken you back to Suiter Park. It was a guess, but I figured he wanted to set you up as the one who killed Ramírez, and I hoped that his plans involved going back to where Ramírez died.”

Markup
Click to go to the author’s review.

Donna’s Diner cleared out as we finished eating. Jefferson swallowed three Tums for dessert, then we walked back to the motel. As we approached, I saw a man [consider changing “a man” to “a large man” (Starck needs to be strong enough at the end of chapter 34 to carry tied-up, unconscious, and dead-weight Frank from the motel to his car and from his car into Suiter Park)] walking toward my room. He was dressed in a black polo shirt, tan pants, and dark sunglasses, so I figured that the FBI had finally decided to visit me. I was right. “Wish me luck,” I said before walking over said. I left Jefferson, who went to his own room, and I walked over [suggested insertion of “I left Jefferson, who went to his own room, and I walked” OK? (we learn later that Jefferson recognizes Starck, but here we need to dispose of Jefferson)] to greet the man, not sure whether I should be worried or relieved. “Mr. Dodge? I’m Agent Starck, Agent William Starck, [suggested insertion of “William” OK? (wouldn’t it be natural for him to disclose his first name when introducing himself?); in chapter 25 and later, we encounter Agent Starck’s first name, but here in chapter 11 is the place to introduce it to the readers] from the FBI. [Consider interrupting the speech here with a short sentence of description (some character-revealing gesture or grimace perhaps) “He showed me his official ID.” OK? This would be routine; why would Frank just accept the agent's say-so that he was from the FBI? —don’t worry about the punctuation; I’ll take care of getting the close and open quotations marks fixed in the edit’s second pass.] I’d like to ask you a few questions.” “Sure. Why not? I’ve got nothing else going on. Do you want to go somewhere to talk or talk, or will this do?” I asked, pointing to my motel room. He said it would said the room would do. Starck was trim and a little under six feet tall. [consider changing “trim and a little under six feet tall” to “massive, a few inches taller than six feet” (same reason as the previous comment)] I didn’t see a single wrinkle on him, not in his clothes or on his face. His hair was thin and wiry, like a porcupine. I felt an urge to pluck out a strand and to reach up, pluck out a strand, and make a quill. [Suggested revision OK? (to maintain Starck’s massiveness)] When we got in my room, Once we entered my room, [suggested revision OK? (Frank had already perceived that Starck was close enough to Frank’s motel room that his destination was unmistakable: “I saw a man walking toward my room,” so now we need to accomplish the goal; “When we got in my room” is a bit vague and can be misread as “When we got to my room”)] he looked around for a place to sit. “I only have one chair. Sorry.” chair,” I said. “Sorry.” He walked across over to across to the chair, picked it up, and tapped it on the floor a couple of times; one leg fell off. [Again, big William is so massive he doesn’t know his own strength (plus the crappiness of the motel furniture).] “That’s OK,” he said. “I can stand. I hear you had a conversation with the Moline police already.” He asked without already,” he said without looking at me; he was me. He was too busy scanning the room from top to bottom. “Yeah,” I answered. “Highlight of my week, but I’m week. But I’m not sure I’d call it a conversation.” “Well, now you get to talk to me, too.” He turned to face me. He turned to face me. “Well, now you get to talk to me, too.” “Lucky me. Another highlight.” 200 pages later (THE SPOILER) “Frank. Frank! You OK?” I heard a familiar voice. Maybe there was an afterlife. Maybe that’s where I was. “Frank—talk to me.” The voice sounded like it was right sounded as though it were right next to me. I felt someone loosening the ropes around my shoulders. I blinked a couple of times, opened my eyes slowly and slowly, and looked around. Jefferson was kneeling next to me, and Starck was on the ground in front of me, blood oozing out of his head. [Not to be too graphic, but consider changing “blood oozing out of his head” to “blood and brain oozing out of his head.”] “Frank. Talk to me.” Jefferson’s hands were trembling, and his breathing was fast and shallow. “Frank!” Jefferson’s hands were trembling, and his breathing was fast and shallow. “Talk to me.” “What happened?” I stammered. “I thought karma had finally caught up with me.” “I’ve got your back, remember?” He worked the rest of the ropes free. He was untying the ropes around me. [Suggested revision OK? Let’s assume that Starck’s ropework is not trivial to undo, and Jefferson can work on the untying at the same time as he embarks on his long debriefing. (He won’t tend to Frank’s gooey face until later, though.)] “Are you OK? I thought you OK?” he asked, continuing his untying as he talked. [Suggested revision OK?] “I thought I was gonna lose you, brother.” “My head hurts like hell and hell, and my ass is cold, but I’m alive. Thanks to you,” I said, closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead. you.” I closed my eyes again, and with my newly freed hands, I rubbed my forehead. [Suggested revision OK?] Then I looked at his face. [Inserted sentence OK?] “How did you find me?” “A little luck and a lot of good police work,” Jefferson said. [I got rid of the paragraph break here.] “When you didn’t answer my calls earlier this evening, I wasn’t too concerned, not at first. I know you can get lost in your work. You always get back to me, though; always. me, though. Always. After spending most of my day combing through files and talking to people who knew the Starcks, I still hadn’t heard from you. I got worried. I went back to the motel around ten and saw that your car was still there. I pounded on your door and you didn’t answer, so I got the manager to open the door and let me in. [Consider interrupting the speech here with a short sentence of description (some character-revealing gesture or grimace perhaps)—don’t worry about the punctuation; I’ll take care of getting the close and open quotations marks fixed in the edit’s second pass.] Maybe you see that, though.” I didn’t like what I saw: your laptop on the floor, car keys on the dresser, and pieces of rope on the floor. I was especially bothered by those pieces of rope. I knew you were in trouble, that someone had probably knocked you out and taken you away, and I was pretty sure it was Starck. I didn’t have much time to find you, so I took a chance that he had taken you back to Suiter Park. [Consider interrupting the speech here with a short sentence of description (some character-revealing gesture or grimace perhaps)—don’t worry about the punctuation; I’ll take care of getting the close and open quotations marks fixed in the edit’s second pass.] It was a guess, but I figured he wanted to set you up as the one who killed one who’d killed Ramírez, and I hoped that his plans involved going back to where Ramírez died.”

The Author’s Review
in BLUE BOLDFACE ALL CAPS
Click to go to the second-pass result.

Donna’s Diner cleared out as we finished eating. Jefferson swallowed three Tums for dessert, then we walked back to the motel. As we approached, I saw a man [consider changing “a man” to “a large man” (Starck needs to be strong enough at the end of chapter 34 to carry tied-up, unconscious, and dead-weight Frank from the motel to his car and from his car into Suiter Park)] ADD LARGE walking toward my room. He was dressed in a black polo shirt, tan pants, and dark sunglasses, so I figured that the FBI had finally decided to visit me. I was right. “Wish me luck,” I said before walking over said. I left Jefferson, who went to his own room, and I walked over [suggested insertion of “I left Jefferson, who went to his own room, and I walked” OK? (we learn later that Jefferson recognizes Starck, but here we need to dispose of Jefferson)] to greet the man, not sure whether I should be worried or relieved. “Mr. Dodge? I’m Agent Starck, Agent William Starck, [suggested insertion of “William” OK? (wouldn’t it be natural for him to disclose his first name when introducing himself?); in chapter 25 and later, we encounter Agent Starck’s first name, but here in chapter 11 is the place to introduce it to the readers] from the FBI. [Consider interrupting the speech here with a short sentence of description (some character-revealing gesture or grimace perhaps) “He showed me his official ID.” OK? This would be routine; why would Frank just accept the agent's say-so that he was from the FBI? —don’t worry about the punctuation; I’ll take care of getting the close and open quotations marks fixed in the edit’s second pass.] HE OPENED UP HIS WALLET AND SHOWED ME HIS BUREAU ID. I’d like to ask you a few questions.” “Sure. Why not? I’ve got nothing else going on. Do you want to go somewhere to talk or talk, or will this do?” I asked, pointing to my motel room. He said it would said the room would do. Starck was trim and a little under six feet tall. [consider changing “trim and a little under six feet tall” to “massive, a few inches taller than six feet” (same reason as the previous comment)] BURLY AND OVER SIX FEET TALL I didn’t see a single wrinkle on him, not in his clothes or on his face. His hair was thin and wiry, like a porcupine. I felt an urge to pluck out a strand and to reach up, pluck out a strand, and make a quill. [Suggested revision OK? (to maintain Starck’s massiveness)] When we got in my room, Once we entered my room, [suggested revision OK? (Frank had already perceived that Starck was close enough to Frank’s motel room that his destination was unmistakable: “I saw a man walking toward my room,” so now we need to accomplish the goal; “When we got in my room” is a bit vague and can be misread as “When we got to my room”)] he looked around for a place to sit. “I only have one chair. Sorry.” chair,” I said. “Sorry.” He walked across over to across to the chair, picked it up, and tapped it on the floor a couple of times; one leg fell off. [Again, big William is so massive he doesn’t know his own strength (plus the crappiness of the motel furniture).] “That’s OK,” he said. “I can stand. I hear you had a conversation with the Moline police already.” He asked without already,” he said without looking at me; he was me. He was too busy scanning the room from top to bottom. “Yeah,” I answered. “Highlight of my week, but I’m week. But I’m not sure I’d call it a conversation.” “Well, now you get to talk to me, too.” He turned to face me. He turned to face me. “Well, now you get to talk to me, too.” “Lucky me. Another highlight.” 200 pages later (THE SPOILER) “Frank. Frank! You OK?” I heard a familiar voice. Maybe there was an afterlife. Maybe that’s where I was. “Frank—talk to me.” The voice sounded like it was right sounded as though it were right next to me. I felt someone loosening the ropes around my shoulders. I blinked a couple of times, opened my eyes slowly and slowly, and looked around. Jefferson was kneeling next to me, and Starck was on the ground in front of me, blood AND GRAY MATTER oozing out of his head. [Not to be too graphic, but consider changing “blood oozing out of his head” to “blood and brain oozing out of his head.”] “Frank. Talk to me.” Jefferson’s hands were trembling, and his breathing was fast and shallow. “Frank!” Jefferson’s hands were trembling, and his breathing was fast and shallow. “Talk to me.” “What happened?” I stammered. “I thought karma had finally caught up with me.” “I’ve got your back, remember?” He worked the rest of the ropes free. He was untying the ropes around me. [Suggested revision OK? Let’s assume that Starck’s ropework is not trivial to undo, and Jefferson can work on the untying at the same time as he embarks on his long debriefing. (He won’t tend to Frank’s gooey face until later, though.)] OK. “Are you OK? I thought you OK?” he asked, continuing his untying as he talked. [Suggested revision OK?] “I thought I was gonna lose you, brother.” “My head hurts like hell and hell, and my ass is cold, but I’m alive. Thanks to you,” I said, closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead. you.” I closed my eyes again, and with my newly freed hands, I rubbed my forehead. [Suggested revision OK?] Then I looked at his face. [Inserted sentence OK?] CONVINCED THAT MY HEAD WAS INTACT, I LOOKED UP AT HIM. “How did you find me?” “A little luck and a lot of good police work,” Jefferson said. [I got rid of the paragraph break here.] “When you didn’t answer my calls earlier this evening, I wasn’t too concerned, not at first. I know you can get lost in your work. You always get back to me, though; always. me, though. Always. After spending most of my day combing through files and talking to people who knew the Starcks, I still hadn’t heard from you. I got worried. I went back to the motel around ten and saw that your car was still there. I pounded on your door and you didn’t answer, so I got the manager to open the door and let me in.” [Consider interrupting the speech here with a short sentence of description (some character-revealing gesture or grimace perhaps)—don’t worry about the punctuation; I’ll take care of getting the close and open quotations marks fixed in the edit’s second pass.] HE UNTIED THE LAST OF THE ROPE AND TOSSED IT ASIDE. “I didn’t like what I saw: your laptop on the floor, car keys on the dresser, and pieces of rope on the floor. I was especially bothered by those pieces of rope. I knew you were in trouble, that someone had probably knocked you out and taken you away, and I was pretty sure it was Starck. I didn’t have much time to find you, so I took a chance that he had taken you back to Suiter Park.” [Consider interrupting the speech here with a short sentence of description (some character-revealing gesture or grimace perhaps)—don’t worry about the punctuation; I’ll take care of getting the close and open quotations marks fixed in the edit’s second pass.] HE LOOKED OVER AT STARCK'S CORPSE. “It was a guess, but I figured he wanted to set you up as the one who killed one who’d killed Ramírez, and I hoped that his plans involved going back to where Ramírez died.”

The Second-Pass Result
Click to go to the next sample in the series.

Donna’s Diner cleared out as we finished eating. Jefferson swallowed three Tums for dessert, then we walked back to the motel. As we approached, I saw a large man walking toward my room. He was dressed in a black polo shirt, tan pants, and dark sunglasses, so I figured that the FBI had finally decided to visit me. I was right. “Wish me luck,” I said. I left Jefferson, who went to his own room, and I walked over to greet the man, not sure whether I should be worried or relieved. “Mr. Dodge? I’m Agent William Starck, from the FBI.” He opened up his wallet and showed me his bureau ID. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.” “Sure. Why not? I’ve got nothing else going on. Do you want to go somewhere to talk, or will this do?” I asked, pointing to my motel room. He said the room would do. Starck was burly and over six feet tall. I didn’t see a single wrinkle on him, not in his clothes or on his face. His hair was thin and wiry, like a porcupine. I felt an urge to reach up, pluck out a strand, and make a quill. Once we entered my room, he looked around for a place to sit. “I only have one chair,” I said. “Sorry.” He walked across over to the chair, picked it up, and tapped it on the floor a couple of times; one leg fell off. “That’s OK,” he said. “I can stand. I hear you had a conversation with the Moline police already,” he said without looking at me. He was too busy scanning the room from top to bottom. “Yeah,” I answered. “Highlight of my week. But I’m not sure I’d call it a conversation.” He turned to face me. “Well, now you get to talk to me, too.” “Lucky me. Another highlight.” 200 pages later (THE SPOILER) “Frank. Frank! You OK?” I heard a familiar voice. Maybe there was an afterlife. Maybe that’s where I was. “Frank—talk to me.” The voice sounded as though it were right next to me. I felt someone loosening the ropes around my shoulders. I blinked a couple of times, opened my eyes slowly, and looked around. Jefferson was kneeling next to me, and Starck was on the ground in front of me, blood and gray matter oozing out of his head. “Frank!” Jefferson’s hands were trembling, and his breathing was fast and shallow. “Talk to me.” “What happened?” I stammered. “I thought karma had finally caught up with me.” “I’ve got your back, remember?” He was untying the ropes around me. “Are you OK?” he asked, continuing his untying as he talked. “I thought I was gonna lose you, brother.” “My head hurts like hell, and my ass is cold, but I’m alive. Thanks to you.” I closed my eyes again, and with my newly freed hands, I rubbed my forehead. Convinced that my head was intact, I looked up at him. “How did you find me?” “A little luck and a lot of good police work,” Jefferson said. “When you didn’t answer my calls earlier this evening, I wasn’t too concerned, not at first. I know you can get lost in your work. You always get back to me, though. Always. After spending most of my day combing through files and talking to people who knew the Starcks, I still hadn’t heard from you. I got worried. I went back to the motel around ten and saw that your car was still there. I pounded on your door and you didn’t answer, so I got the manager to open the door and let me in.” He untied the last of the rope and tossed it aside. “I didn’t like what I saw: your laptop on the floor, car keys on the dresser, and pieces of rope on the floor. I was especially bothered by those pieces of rope. I knew you were in trouble, that someone had probably knocked you out and taken you away, and I was pretty sure it was Starck. I didn’t have much time to find you, so I took a chance that he had taken you back to Suiter Park.” He looked over at Starck’s corpse. “It was a guess, but I figured he wanted to set you up as the one who’d killed Ramírez, and I hoped that his plans involved going back to where Ramírez died.”