I come from a long line of seamstresses; from ballgowns for high class society in Poland, to the miniskirts and children’s smocked dresses of my own day.
The initial joy was in the pinning of the pattern to the cloth, the sharpened Smith & Wesson scissors poised, the first cut made.
A story is a bolt of designed material, it wraps around a solid core until it is laid out and analyzed. The pieces are laid out like the bodice, sleeves and collar, until all the necessary parts are accounted for and cut. The fabric in between is scrapped, or if useable in a quilt, may be stored away. The parts are pinned and sewn together, assembled into something that is wearable, something to be proud of and enjoyed.
I have slashed a story from 1010 words to 925, and I’m not finished yet. I am learning to sew a story together.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
How appropriate that you should allow this comparison to illuminate the editing process. How clever, and how very true.
I once had a teacher that loved what I wrote. But they always made me go back and take out half the word count. It was excrutiating. It was more painful than I can describe.
In the end, I learned to appreciate the brevity; the tight conciseness of the remains (but you’ll notice I still use words with abandon)
who would ever have thought that growing meant LESS, instead of MORE?
hang tough