Substantive editing sample 33:
Fragile despair

In this novel, I suggested that each participant in a dialogue have his or her dedicated paragraph, thereby enabling the reader better to “hear” the speakers. I also employed the principle of Aristotelian coherence to improve the flow (see my comment in the markup about this). I also pointed out what I deemed an incongruity with characterization: Suddenly the tough Vanessa seems fragile and weak. The author didn’t entirely agree with me about this but proposed a wording that partially at least conceded my point (see his responses in BLUE BOLDFACE ALL CAPS). He also refused a couple of other markup suggestions of mine (he didn’t deem it necessary to explain every bit of “business,” and he occasionally wanted the “tumbling” feel of commas where the style guidelines recommended semicolons). As always, it’s the author’s book, and I deferred to his preferences.

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

Original
Click to go to the markup.

Dumbfounded, I started back toward the apartment, but she was moving toward the elevator. “Come with me,” she said. “Where?” I asked. “To look for your daughter,” she said. I felt as if I were drifting away from my body as I followed her to her car. Things were happening rapidly; I was having trouble digesting any of it. She slammed her door shut and angrily lit a cigarette. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you didn’t ask for any of this. But for the record, neither did I.” “I’m sorry I dragged you into it,” I lied. “It’s okay,” she said, calming as the nicotine took hold. “I’m worried about Dresden, but I can’t really deal with this kind of shit right now. I just don’t have the fucking time.” “You’re kind of like a saint,” I told her. She flicked me off and started the car. the next chapter, 9 pages later “Maybe Billy knows something,” she said. I asked who Billy was. She said I’d already met him: the manager of the low-rent strip joint she’d taken me to on our initial investigation. I had no desire to mingle with this creature again. Or anyone else, for that matter. I’d had enough of playing detective, all I really wanted now was to get wasted; hopefully things would sort themselves out in the meantime. “Forget it,” I croaked. “Just take me home.” “That’s it? You came all this way just to quit at the first sign of adversity?” “The first sign? It’s been an adversity enema from the outset.” I gestured wildly to our general surroundings. “What is there in life that is not adversity?” For a moment, she looked poised to take the question head-on. Then she let her guard down, a first in my presence, fixing me with a look of that fragile despair which is particular to women and children (grown men are not capable of the complex and subtle sequence of muscular twitches and contractions necessary to form the expression). “Please help me,” she whispered, her voice quivering, signaling the imminence of tears. I didn’t want her to start crying. If she started, I would start—and where would it end? Regardless, a stream departed her right eye, followed a fraction of a second later by a stream from the left. She allowed them to race to her chin before wiping them away. Her face became rigid. In that moment, I would have given any number of redundant body parts to erase her suffering. The lump in my throat prohibited a lengthy reply: “Okay,” I said.

Markup
Click to go to the author’s review.

Dumbfounded, I started back toward the apartment, but she was moving toward the elevator. “Come with me,” she said. [I broke the paragraph here] “Where?” I asked. [I broke the paragraph here] “To look for your daughter,” she said. daughter.” I felt as if As I followed her to her car, I felt as if I were drifting away from my body as I followed her to her car my body. [Suggested revision for Aristotelian coherence: “As I followed her to her car” precedes (in time) “I felt as if I were drifting away from my body,” and it follows directly from Vanessa’s command for narrator Gordon to follow her. Then “I felt as if I were drifting away from my body” is more logically (coherently) juxtaposed to “Things were happening rapidly; I was having trouble digesting any of it.”] Things were happening rapidly; I was having trouble digesting any of it. [I broke the paragraph here] She slammed Once we were in the car, she slammed her door shut and angrily lit a cigarette. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you didn’t ask for any of this. But for the record, neither did I.” “I’m sorry I dragged you into it,” I lied. “It’s okay,” she said, calming as the nicotine took hold. “I’m worried about Dresden, but I can’t really deal with this kind of shit right now. I just don’t have the fucking time.” “You’re kind of like a saint,” I told her. She flicked me off and started the car. the next chapter, 9 pages later “Maybe Billy knows something,” she said. [I broke the paragraph here] I asked who Billy was. She said I’d already met him: the manager of the low-rent strip joint she’d taken me to on our initial investigation. I had no desire to mingle with this creature again. Or anyone else, for that matter. I’d had enough of playing detective, all I detective; all I really wanted now was to get wasted; hopefully things wasted. Hopefully, things would sort themselves out in the meantime. [I broke the paragraph here] “Forget it,” I croaked. “Just take me home.” “That’s it? You came all this way just to quit at the first sign of adversity?” “The first sign? It’s been an adversity enema from the outset.” I gestured wildly to our general surroundings. “What is there in life that is not adversity?” For a moment, she looked poised to take the question head-on. Then she let her guard down, a first in my presence, fixing me with a look of that fragile despair which is despair that is particular to women and children (grown men are not capable of the complex and subtle sequence of muscular twitches and contractions necessary to form the expression). “Please help me,” she whispered, her voice quivering, signaling the imminence of tears. [(1) Desperation here and in the next paragraph seems to be a very abrupt change of character for Vanessa. In the preceding chapter, she was tough: “I know you didn’t ask for any of this. But for the record, neither did I.” and “I’m worried about Dresden, but I can’t really deal with this kind of shit right now. I just don’t have the fucking time.” Consider providing a hint to the reader to explain why she now seems so desperate (or at least provide an indication that Gordon was wondering why she now is desperate). (2) I broke the paragraph here.] I didn’t want her to start crying. If she started, I would start—and where would it end? Regardless, a stream departed her right eye, followed a fraction of a second later by a stream from the left. She allowed them to race to her chin before wiping them away. Her face became rigid. In that moment, I would have given any number of redundant body parts to erase her suffering. The lump in my throat prohibited a lengthy reply: “Okay,” I said.

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

Dumbfounded, I started back toward the apartment, but she was moving toward the elevator. “Come with me,” she said. [I broke the paragraph here] “Where?” I asked. [I broke the paragraph here] “To look for your daughter,” she said. daughter.” I felt as if As I followed her to her car, I felt as if I were drifting away from my body as I followed her to her car my body. [Suggested revision for Aristotelian coherence: “As I followed her to her car” precedes (in time) “I felt as if I were drifting away from my body,” and it follows directly from Vanessa’s command for narrator Gordon to follow her. Then “I felt as if I were drifting away from my body” is more logically (coherently) juxtaposed to “Things were happening rapidly; I was having trouble digesting any of it.”] Things were happening rapidly; I was having trouble digesting any of it. [I broke the paragraph here] OKAY She slammed Once we were in the car, she slammed NO, RESTORE THE ORIGINAL HERE her door shut and angrily lit a cigarette. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you didn’t ask for any of this. But for the record, neither did I.” “I’m sorry I dragged you into it,” I lied. “It’s okay,” she said, calming as the nicotine took hold. “I’m worried about Dresden, but I can’t really deal with this kind of shit right now. I just don’t have the fucking time.” “You’re kind of like a saint,” I told her. She flicked me off and started the car. the next chapter, 9 pages later “Maybe Billy knows something,” she said. [I broke the paragraph here] I asked who Billy was. She said I’d already met him: the manager of the low-rent strip joint she’d taken me to on our initial investigation. I had no desire to mingle with this creature again. Or anyone else, for that matter. I’d had enough of playing detective, all I detective; all I RESTORE THE ORIGINAL HERE really wanted now was to get wasted; hopefully things wasted. Hopefully, things would sort themselves out in the meantime. [I broke the paragraph here] “Forget it,” I croaked. “Just take me home.” “That’s it? You came all this way just to quit at the first sign of adversity?” “The first sign? It’s been an adversity enema from the outset.” I gestured wildly to our general surroundings. “What is there in life that is not adversity?” For a moment, she looked poised to take the question head-on. Then she let her guard down, a first in my presence, fixing me with a look of that fragile despair which is despair that is particular to women and children (grown men are not capable of the complex and subtle sequence of muscular twitches and contractions necessary to form the expression). “Please help me,” she whispered, her voice quivering, signaling the imminence of tears. [(1) Desperation here and in the next paragraph seems to be a very abrupt change of character for Vanessa. In the preceding chapter, she was tough: “I know you didn’t ask for any of this. But for the record, neither did I.” and “I’m worried about Dresden, but I can’t really deal with this kind of shit right now. I just don’t have the fucking time.” Consider providing a hint to the reader to explain why she now seems so desperate (or at least provide an indication that Gordon was wondering why she now is desperate). TO BE FAIR, HE DOES PRECEDE WITH: "SHE LET HER GUARD DOWN, A FIRST IN MY PRESENCE," SO THAT WHILE HE IS NOT "WONDERING WHY," HE IS CERTAINLY ACKNOWLEDGING THE SHIFT. TO CLARIFY, AFTER THE PARENTHETICAL AND BEFORE SHE SPEAKS, WE CAN ADD: "I UNDERSTOOD PERFECTLY: SHE WAS A TOUGH LITTLE COOKIE, BUT SHE—LIKE ALL OF US—COULD ONLY SUCK IT UP FOR SO LONG." (2) I broke the paragraph here.] I didn’t want her to start crying. If she started, I would start—and where would it end? Regardless, a stream departed her right eye, followed a fraction of a second later by a stream from the left. She allowed them to race to her chin before wiping them away. Her face became rigid. In that moment, I would have given any number of redundant body parts to erase her suffering. The lump in my throat prohibited a lengthy reply: “Okay,” I said.

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

Dumbfounded, I started back toward the apartment, but she was moving toward the elevator. “Come with me,” she said. “Where?” I asked. “To look for your daughter.” As I followed her to her car, I felt as if I were drifting away from my body. Things were happening rapidly; I was having trouble digesting any of it. She slammed her door shut and angrily lit a cigarette. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you didn’t ask for any of this. But for the record, neither did I.” “I’m sorry I dragged you into it,” I lied. “It’s okay,” she said, calming as the nicotine took hold. “I’m worried about Dresden, but I can’t really deal with this kind of shit right now. I just don’t have the fucking time.” “You’re kind of like a saint,” I told her. She flicked me off and started the car. the next chapter, 9 pages later “Maybe Billy knows something,” she said. I asked who Billy was. She said I’d already met him: the manager of the low-rent strip joint she’d taken me to on our initial investigation. I had no desire to mingle with this creature again. Or anyone else, for that matter. I’d had enough of playing detective, all I really wanted now was to get wasted. Hopefully, things would sort themselves out in the meantime. “Forget it,” I croaked. “Just take me home.” “That’s it? You came all this way just to quit at the first sign of adversity?” “The first sign? It’s been an adversity enema from the outset.” I gestured wildly to our general surroundings. “What is there in life that is not adversity?” For a moment, she looked poised to take the question head-on. Then she let her guard down, a first in my presence, fixing me with a look of that fragile despair that is particular to women and children (grown men are not capable of the complex and subtle sequence of muscular twitches and contractions necessary to form the expression). I understood perfectly: She was a tough little cookie, but she—like all of us— could suck it up for only so long. “Please help me,” she whispered, her voice quivering, signaling the imminence of tears. I didn’t want her to start crying. If she started, I would start—and where would it end? Regardless, a stream departed her right eye, followed a fraction of a second later by a stream from the left. She allowed them to race to her chin before wiping them away. Her face became rigid. In that moment, I would have given any number of redundant body parts to erase her suffering. The lump in my throat prohibited a lengthy reply: “Okay,” I said.