Substantive editing sample 29:
The other sister

In this quirky dark novel, I needed to clarify vagueness (who was doing what?) and clear up some loose ends in the plot (for example, establishing where the younger sister resided). You can see (in BLUE BOLDFACE ALL CAPS) how the author addressed my queries and comments in the markup.

Note that the author preferred to italicize many words and phrases I would have left without italics; he insisted this was his stylistic choice, reminiscent of the works of authors Michel Houellebecq and Thomas Bernhard. Naturally, I deferred to his preference.

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.

Vicky is not my only sister. I have another one, Cody, twelve years my junior—a half-sister, actually, about whom I know very little, although in reality not much less than I know about the other one. Vicky was not entirely pleased, two years into her life, to be robbed of the undivided parental adoration that is the birthright of the Only Child—and I’ve done nothing much since then to ingratiate myself upon her; as a little brother, I’ve proven rather mediocre. As for Cody . . . well, the generational divide between us pretty much precluded any substantial sibling connection, to say nothing of the partial genetic divide . . . If tasked with picking her out of a lineup of young women with body dysmorphia and drug problems, I don’t think I could have done it. What can one say about having sisters? What can one say about siblings in general? The three of us are the products of successful insemination within the context of failed human relationships. We were parceled out as children, as if to give each of us the best chance to thrive as individuals: Vicky was raised by my mother, I was raised by my father, and Cody’s upbringing was split evenly between her father and our mother. Vicky’s annual attempts to gather the disparate threads of our mother’s genetic legacy under one roof—to foster the illusion of connection—only really served to delineate the absurdity of our lives, of life in general. Basically, I don’t feel terribly related to these people; if they were to cease contact, it would take years for me to notice. 163 pages later “There is no band anymore,” Cody informed me, staring dead ahead at the TV. “We broke up. Or actually they kicked me out. Fucking bitches.” “Why did they kick you out?” I asked. “Why do you think they kicked me out?” To be fair, they could have excommunicated her for any number of indiscretions, or some dizzying combination thereof. The binge-drinking was a safe bet. If you’re going to make a career out of binge-drinking, it is best to stay out of the public eye, to choose some job with low performance requirements: teaching Film Studies, for instance. “So you are currently unemployed,” I summarized. “I’m studying interpretive theater,” she said. I had only the most abstract understanding of the meaning of the phrase interpretive theater; it sounded like something invented by a bunch of Berkeley dropouts while high on psychotropic substances. Uninterested in shedding any amount of light on the mystery, I returned the spotlight to her boyfriend. “So, Maverick, I’m assuming you live in Los Angeles as well?” “Yup.”

Markup
Click to go to the author’s review.

Vicky is not my only sister. I have another one, Cody, twelve years my junior—a half-sister, actually, about whom I know very little, although in reality not much less than I know about the other one. Vicky was not entirely pleased, two years into her life, to be robbed of robbed by me of the undivided parental adoration [insertion of “by me” okay? (otherwise, the reader might temporarily infer that half-sister Cody, “twelve years my [Gordon’s] junior” and therefore twenty-nine years old, robbed two-year-old Vicky of the “undivided parental adoration that is the birthright of the Only Child,” Vicky necessarily then being thirty-one years old), but the “by me” insertion will establish that Vicky is currently two years older than forty-one-year-old Gordon and therefore currently forty-three years old] that is the birthright of the Only Child—and I’ve done nothing much since then to ingratiate myself upon her; as a little brother, I’ve proven rather mediocre. As for Cody . . . [consider changing “As for Cody . . .” to “As for Cody, who would be flying from Los Angeles to attend Vicky’s get-together . . .” in order to establish Los Angeles as her residence; otherwise, the first indication of her place of residence will be Gordon’s asking her boyfriend, Maverick, the following in Part Two’s chapter 9: “So, Maverick, I’m assuming you live in Los Angeles as well?”] well, the generational divide between us pretty much precluded any substantial sibling connection, to say nothing of the partial genetic divide . . . If divide. . . . If tasked with picking her out of a lineup of young women with body dysmorphia [consider describing in parentheses the specific anatomical malformation, the “dysmorphia,” that Cody suffers from] and drug problems, I don’t think I could have done it. What can one say about having sisters? What can one say about siblings in general? The three of us are the products of successful insemination within the context of failed human relationships. We were parceled out as children, as if to give each of us the best chance to thrive as individuals: the “best chance to thrive as an individual”: [“each of us” is singular] Vicky was raised by my mother by our mother, I was raised by my father by our (Vicky’s and my) father, and Cody’s upbringing was split evenly between her father and our mother. Vicky’s annual attempts to gather the disparate threads of our mother’s genetic legacy under one roof—to foster the illusion of connection—only really served to really served only to delineate the absurdity of our lives, of life in general. Basically, I don’t feel terribly related to these people; if they were to cease contact, it would take years for me to notice. 163 pages later “There is no band anymore,” Cody informed me, staring dead ahead at the TV. “We broke up. Or actually they actually, they kicked me out. Fucking bitches.” “Why did they kick you out?” I asked. “Why do you think they kicked me out?” To be fair, they could have excommunicated her for any number of indiscretions, or some dizzying combination thereof. The binge-drinking The binge drinking was a safe bet. If you’re going to make a career out of binge-drinking of binge drinking, it is best to stay out of the public eye, to choose some job with low performance requirements: teaching Film Studies teaching film studies, for instance. [Consider inserting a sentence explaining why Gordon didn’t answer Cody’s challenge “Why do you think they kicked me out?” Something like this, maybe: “I decided to disregard her challenge to guess why she was kicked out of the band.”] “So you “So, you are currently unemployed,” I summarized. “I’m studying interpretive theater,” she said. I had only the most abstract understanding of the meaning of the phrase interpretive theater; phrase “interpretive theater”; it sounded like something invented by a bunch of Berkeley dropouts while high on psychotropic substances. Uninterested in shedding any amount of light on the mystery in getting any amount of light shed on the mystery, [suggested revision okay? Gordon wouldn’t have been the one to shed “light on the mystery”; Cody was presumably the only one in a position to do that (or maybe I’m wrong here, since Gordon “had only the most abstract understanding of the phrase “interpretive theater”,” that “abstract understanding” might be sufficient to shed light? Should I restore the original?)] I returned the spotlight to her boyfriend. “So, Maverick, I’m assuming you live in Los Angeles as well?” [“Los Angeles as well” is the very first indication in this manuscript that Cody resides in Los Angeles. Shouldn’t there be some earlier indication of this—such as the first instance when Cody is mentioned in the manuscript? (See chapter 13 of Part One, where I proposed such a mention: “As for Cody, who would be flying from Los Angeles to attend Vicky’s get-together . . .”)] “Yup.”

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

Vicky is not my only sister. I have another one, Cody, twelve years my junior—a half-sister, actually, about whom I know very little, although in reality not much less than I know about the other one. Vicky was not entirely pleased, two years into her life, to be robbed of robbed by me of the undivided parental adoration [insertion of “by me” okay? (otherwise, the reader might temporarily infer that half-sister Cody, “twelve years my [Gordon’s] junior” and therefore twenty-nine years old, robbed two-year-old Vicky of the “undivided parental adoration that is the birthright of the Only Child,” Vicky necessarily then being thirty-one years old), but the “by me” insertion will establish that Vicky is currently two years older than forty-one-year-old Gordon and therefore currently forty-three years old] OKAY that is the birthright of the Only Child—and I’ve done nothing much since then to ingratiate myself upon her; as a little brother, I’ve proven rather mediocre. As for Cody . . . [consider changing “As for Cody . . .” to “As for Cody, who would be flying from Los Angeles to attend Vicky’s get-together . . .” in order to establish Los Angeles as her residence; otherwise, the first indication of her place of residence will be Gordon’s asking her boyfriend, Maverick, the following in Part Two’s chapter 9: “So, Maverick, I’m assuming you live in Los Angeles as well?”] OKAY. GOOD IDEA. well, the generational divide between us pretty much precluded any substantial sibling connection, to say nothing of the partial genetic divide . . . If divide. . . . If tasked with picking her out of a lineup of young women with body dysmorphia [consider describing in parentheses the specific anatomical malformation, the “dysmorphia,” that Cody suffers from] REPLACE "BODY DYSMORPHIA" WITH "ANOREXIA" and drug problems, I don’t think I could have done it. What can one say about having sisters? What can one say about siblings in general? The three of us are the products of successful insemination within the context of failed human relationships. We were parceled out as children, as if to give each of us the best chance to thrive as individuals: the “best chance to thrive as an individual”: [“each of us” is singular] DELETE "EACH OF" AND KEEP "INDIVIDUALS" Vicky was raised by my mother by our mother, I was raised by my father by our (Vicky’s and my) father, and Cody’s upbringing was split evenly between her father and our mother. Vicky’s annual attempts to gather the disparate threads of our mother’s genetic legacy under one roof—to foster the illusion of connection—only really served to really served only to delineate the absurdity of our lives, of life in general. Basically, I don’t feel terribly related to these people; if they were to cease contact, it would take years for me to notice. 163 pages later “There is no band anymore,” Cody informed me, staring dead ahead at the TV. “We broke up. Or actually they actually, they kicked me out. Fucking bitches.” “Why did they kick you out?” I asked. “Why do you think they kicked me out?” To be fair, they could have excommunicated her for any number of indiscretions, or some dizzying combination thereof. The binge-drinking The binge drinking was a safe bet. If you’re going to make a career out of binge-drinking of binge drinking, it is best to stay out of the public eye, to choose some job with low performance requirements: teaching Film Studies teaching film studies, for instance. [Consider inserting a sentence explaining why Gordon didn’t answer Cody’s challenge “Why do you think they kicked me out?” Something like this, maybe: “I decided to disregard her challenge to guess why she was kicked out of the band.”] BEFORE "TO BE FAIR" ADD THE SENTENCE: I WAS STUMPED, AND I DECLINED TO ANSWER. “So you “So, you are currently unemployed,” I summarized. “I’m studying interpretive theater,” she said. I had only the most abstract understanding of the meaning of the phrase interpretive theater; phrase “interpretive theater”; it sounded like something invented by a bunch of Berkeley dropouts while high on psychotropic substances. Uninterested in shedding any amount of light on the mystery in getting any amount of light shed on the mystery, [suggested revision okay? Gordon wouldn’t have been the one to shed “light on the mystery”; Cody was presumably the only one in a position to do that (or maybe I’m wrong here, since Gordon “had only the most abstract understanding of the phrase “interpretive theater”,” that “abstract understanding” might be sufficient to shed light? Should I restore the original?)] YOUR REVISION IS FINE I returned the spotlight to her boyfriend. “So, Maverick, I’m assuming you live in Los Angeles as well?” [“Los Angeles as well” is the very first indication in this manuscript that Cody resides in Los Angeles. Shouldn’t there be some earlier indication of this—such as the first instance when Cody is mentioned in the manuscript? (See chapter 13 of Part One, where I proposed such a mention: “As for Cody, who would be flying from Los Angeles to attend Vicky’s get-together . . .”)] THE EARLIER CHANGE WILL WORK. THANK YOU. “Yup.”

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

Vicky is not my only sister. I have another one, Cody, twelve years my junior—a half-sister, actually, about whom I know very little, although in reality not much less than I know about the other one. Vicky was not entirely pleased, two years into her life, to be robbed by me of the undivided parental adoration that is the birthright of the Only Child—and I’ve done nothing much since then to ingratiate myself upon her; as a little brother, I’ve proven rather mediocre. As for Cody, who would be flying from Los Angeles to attend Vicky’s get-together . . . well, the generational divide between us pretty much precluded any substantial sibling connection, to say nothing of the partial genetic divide. . . . If tasked with picking her out of a lineup of young women with anorexia and drug problems, I don’t think I could have done it. What can one say about having sisters? What can one say about siblings in general? The three of us are the products of successful insemination within the context of failed human relationships. We were parceled out as children, as if to give us the “best chance to thrive as individuals”: Vicky was raised by our mother, I was raised by our (Vicky’s and my) father, and Cody’s upbringing was split evenly between her father and our mother. Vicky’s annual attempts to gather the disparate threads of our mother’s genetic legacy under one roof—to foster the illusion of connection—really served only to delineate the absurdity of our lives, of life in general. Basically, I don’t feel terribly related to these people; if they were to cease contact, it would take years for me to notice. 163 pages later “There is no band anymore,” Cody informed me, staring dead ahead at the TV. “We broke up. Or actually, they kicked me out. Fucking bitches.” “Why did they kick you out?” I asked. “Why do you think they kicked me out?” I was stumped, and I declined to answer. To be fair, they could have excommunicated her for any number of indiscretions, or some dizzying combination thereof. The binge drinking was a safe bet. If you’re going to make a career out of binge drinking, it is best to stay out of the public eye, to choose some job with low performance requirements: teaching film studies, for instance. “So, you are currently unemployed,” I summarized. “I’m studying interpretive theater,” she said. I had only the most abstract understanding of the meaning of the phrase “interpretive theater”; it sounded like something invented by a bunch of Berkeley dropouts while high on psychotropic substances. Uninterested in getting any amount of light shed on the mystery, I returned the spotlight to her boyfriend. “So, Maverick, I’m assuming you live in Los Angeles as well?” “Yup.”