The Nasty Work of Editing (and on a Sunday! Gasp!)

 I’m currently editing Your Pal Al, my long unfinished novel. In the past 24 hours, I have cut over 1500 words from Your Pal Al. That sounds like a lot for a horror but the book is still clocking in at a whopping 146,000 words. I have made a LOT of freshman author mistakes.

One thing I have done too much of is storytelling. Storytelling is fine, but it should move the plot along. A related problem is that I let the characters run roughshod over me. They demand to be heard—right down to the last detail. And these people of Trembling have a mind of their own and can be very persuasive.

I have other problems, but I have learned a lot since I started on this epic novel-writing odyssey. I am thankful for the friends I have made in this community, the publishers who have given my stories and my poetry a home, the readers, and, of course, my family. 

I struggle with the two problems I have noted—the killing of my darlings. As I make cuts, I'll try to envision myself as a slasher on a rampage, however, my heart is not quite a chainsaw yet, but I do have a nasty set of bolt cutters. So, to keep these characters somewhat happy, I will post some of the bloody mess here. Read on. 

Dressings & Blessings

Sunday mornings had always come too early for Albert, and this one was no different. Especially now that he was living by Grandmother’s Commandments. Thou shalt not eat breakfast before Church. Thou shall not wear grubbies to attend Church. And, Thou shall not forget to maketh thy whole body clean—including behind the ears and under the fingernails. And the greatest commandment of all—thou shalt not be late. Ever. That one had its own stone tablet.

And if the Shalt Nots weren’t bad enough, as soon as you got ready, you had to march yourself to the parlor and plant yourself in the fancy chair—the pink one with the hard knotted patterns in the fabric. It was the kind of chair that left marks in your legs if you were wearing short pants—but Grandmother would NEVER let you wear short pants sitting in THAT chair. Then you had to wait. But not just wait. You had to sit ‘quietly with your hands in your lap’ and wait. And wait. And wait. Grandmother made sure that you didn’t get your Sunday best dirty before you left the house. 

Albert was standing in front of the bathroom mirror. He had brushed his teeth and was now taking care of his hair. “Belvedere? Why do you suppose they call these suits Seersuckers when you buy them out of the J.C. Penny catalog? Shouldn’t Sears Roebuck be selling them? Maybe I’ll ask Papa Jack? What do you say, hmmm, boy? You’re right. I best ask later. At supper. Say, do you think I should use the Brylcream or the Vitalis? I think Daddy likes Vitalis better. Personally, I don’t much like either. Your hair gets all oily then it goes stiff. A whole hunk of your hair acts just like one big piece. If you ask me, it’s a lot like those plastic Beatles wigs you sometimes see at Spencer’s Gifts at the Regency Square Mall in Jacksonville. I just know that you would hate it, but you shouldn’t worry yourself none. Your hair’s too short to make any use of it anyway. I wonder what Papa Jack uses? Do you think I should ask him? Hmm?”

As usual, the dog didn’t react. Before Albert left the bathroom, he smoothed down his cowlick. Again. A few hairs had struggled free. Before heading to the bedroom, he gave the front part of his hair a little nudge to get some height. The dog shook his head, his ears flapping loudly, and padded after him.

“I wonder we cain’t go to any churches around these parts? I seen one in the town center. I’d ask but, I’m afraid Grandmother might want to know why I was asking, and then the angels themselves would hear about it. Does Grandmother make you take a bath every Sunday, too? I’m surprised she even lets you in the house at all. Do you think my nails are clean enough? Hmm?” He shoved his hands in the dog’s face and kept right on talking. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand why women put so much thought into fingernails. Grandmother has a thing about nails but then, I guess, all women do. Nails’re gonna get dirty. That’s just a fact. You wanna hear the funniest part? Grandmother wears gloves! So her nails ain’t even gonna be seen! Well–It’s funny, Belvedere because it wouldn’t matter if they were dirty inside her gloves. No one can see even see her hands! Ain’t that a hoot? Hmm, boy? Ain’t it?” Albert slapped his knee and forced a laugh hoping the dog would join in. When he didn’t, Albert clipped on his tie. “I guess I had better hurry up. I know there’s an empty chair in the parlor with my name on it.” When he said ‘parlor’ he did his best Grandmother imitation. He took one last look, gave himself a wink, and ran down the hallway to find his post.

“Good morning, Albert. Don’t you look smart!”

“Aw, Mama. You say the same thing every Sunday.”