Let’s talk about roughness, screams, excesses, and murder. I’m a killer writer, my Wicked Luvs. When a word doesn’t do anything for my tale, I murder it. However, like most Word Criminal Master Minds (or maybe it’s just me), there are times when I take trigger-happy a bit too far.
My first draft of “Brownies, Brews and Blades” was almost 500 words. I had to chop off 200 of my darlings, in order to bring the scene down to the required word count. During the massacre, I played a lot with the words “rough” and “scream.”
I felt that “rough” didn’t add much to the action or to the plot as a whole (The super’s
rough voice made me jump.). The reaction of the character who thought the words was enough to convey the mood the story needed. Still, I left the word alone (I don’t always know when my trigger-happy moments will fire). Then—without me saying anything about it—someone pointed out that “rough” wasn’t needed, so I killed it. A few days later, a second person said that the word didn’t bother her…
The case of “scream” also has to do with excess. In the first draft, the “scream
s” were plural. My sexy first reader, Piano Man, felt that there was too much screaming. I agreed, especially after listening to my Kindle read the scene aloud. I won’t show you the actual fragment because with a piece of only 299 words a tiny excerpt can give away the whole story. But I will say that the plural form of the word could have broken the delicate veil that exists between astonishing and melodramatic. Read “Brownies, Brews and Blades,” and tell me what you think.
While we’re discussing rough and unfinished things, let me show you a bit of my writing space.
I totally lied, I will show you the whole thing. (For those who don’t know it, I write in bed—desks hate me.)
Oh, and that huge glow about to melt my window? That’s just Amaterasu saying hello.
I’ve been brewing poetry… The wee blue cat likes to keep warm.
I had to show you my book stopper. It’s one of a kind; yep, a Magaly Original. It used to be a bottle of Peach Schnapps in its former life, (but we don’t talk about it). No shadow! Shadow!! Just like magic!!!
Here is Wicked, flanked by six years of The New Yorker, World Religions and Rifleman Dodd, and sitting on centuries of literature. I’m sure she is planning world domination. She’s related to The Brain.
P.S. There is a story that comes with my unfinished writing space. I promise to tell it, soon… ;-)