Tripendicular Cuts

This is from Deb Hoag, and unlike the other recent fiction cuts, it comes from the middle of a story. She tells me, "The section that my first reader thought was loooooonnnnnnnggg (that's a direct quote) I have set off in the text with a line of asterisks....[It] is, oddly enough, exactly 1,000 words." She also says that she's not sure everyone will get the in jokes -- and I'm not sure that I will, so I may end up cutting some of them. As always, Deb, as author, can decide what stays in.

Since the section was loooooonnnnnnnggg, I'm assuming that the content needs to be abridged so that it doesn't slow down the story as much. I also think that a good portion of the story's appeal comes from the semi-psychotic voice of the narrator: a man who "believes in better living through chemistry", if you get Deb's drift. So I need to cut a lot, but the voice and the science, for me, were more important than just getting back to the plot.

Let's shoot for 25% again, but with an eye toward going deeper if there are bits unessential to the plot so this part doesn't feel quite so loooooonnnnnnnggg. (Yes, I just like that word.)

Here's the original:

I hadn't just blindly picked a school, because it was my parents' alma mater, either. I had been following the list of staff publications with some interest for the last few years. Mom wasn't kidding when she said Dad was one of the best organic chemists of his time. It's just that his time peaked in about 1962. Anyways, one of the professors in the organic chemistry department had been working on developing a strain of ergot resistant rye for years. He finally thought he had got it right, and the university was funding a full scale trial of the new rye, to the tune of ten acres, along with a matching trial on ten non-resistant control acres. They were going through a pretty elaborate process to keep it all buttoned up and prevent the ergot from drifting away free into the atmosphere, but I thought I could liberate a reasonable quantity of it for my own use. With Mom's hidden heartland acres to work with. I could be knee deep in ergot by the end of the next growing season.

It's really a sad commentary on our society that most people don't even know what ergot is anymore. In case you are wondering why I was so hot to get my hands on a quantity, the ergot fungus is what LSD was first synthesized from. Crazy, huh? They think now that that's how the Salem Witch Hunts got started – some funky rye bread was making the rounds, and BAM! Everybody went off on the same bad trip.

I had some ideas on how to extract the lysergic acid from the ergot and combine it was a couple of other tasty little items complements of Tab's home cookin' – a recipe all my own, that would let it pack a wallop, make sure the trip was a good one, and fly under the FDA radar detectors for a while.

It almost killed me trying to stay calm, cool and collected when, the first week of class, the prof I was stalking asked for volunteers to help him with his pet project. I could quote him chapter and verse on the papers he'd published in the last ten years. And, hey, professors don't get a lot of groupies. Plus, no one else had volunteered, so it's not like he had a big choice. It was just too damn early in the semester for any of these short-sighted college kids to be worrying about extra credit. Their loss,my immensely profitable secret gain.

I spent so much time hanging around the labs and doing odd jobs for the professor, that after a few weeks, nobody even bothered to ask me what I was doing anymore. I swiped a small amount of the ergot fungus, and a heaping helping of the non-resistant control rye seed. I like plants, and rye is not illegal. Mom, of course, really wanted me to do well in school, so she gave me five acres of my own on her little backwoods farm, and I was able to get it turned just in time for the grow season. In Michigan, everything grows, so it was pretty much a no-brainer. A little organic fertilizer, some of Mom's special Bug-Be-Gone spray, and voila! Rye crop.

Once the rye was successfully impregnated by the ergot, it was a downhill slide. I had enough of the fungus to psychedelicize the entire city of Detroit for about 100 years. And I was just getting started.

I really admired the creators of ecstasy, in an abstract sort of way, and this was the kind of success story I was shooting for. See, ecstasy is a combination of LSD and a stimulant, usually meth or cocaine (these are the components that stimulate all-important dopamine production). You get the fantastical trippiness of the LSD, driven by the dopamine ding-dong of the coke or meth. It was a pretty sound idea, overall, and I wasn't too proud to build on the work of those who came before me. I just wanted a dopamine driver that wouldn't show up on your basic four-panel drug screen.

Once I had the LSD, Mom and Fuzzwad and I developed the worst cases of chronic major depression ever seen in the Midwest, thanks to the floridly verbose professor in the psych class I elected. Between the depression and the doctor shopping and the fact that nobody had ever heard of someone getting addicted to anti-depressants, we ended up with enough prescription medication to sedate turn J.R. Ewing into a nice guy for an entire season.

Most amazing of all, out of nearly a hundred doctors we visited, a whopping seventeen of them left their prescription pads alone in the room with one of us at some point during their examinations. You know, somebody should warn them about people like us. Cautioning my troops (all two of them) to take a reasonable, not noticeable, amount of scrip papers from each pad, I was really in business. The pills were even simpler to break down and extract the psychoactive components of than the lysergic acid in the ergot had been. Being able to do it all on the university dime, with university's lab equipment only made it easier. I even got Mom in the building a couple of times to assist with the separations. You know, she really is a whiz in the lab. No wonder Dad was so crazy about her.

So, there was my recipe: one part LSD, which had combined nicely with an experimental steroid into a completely new molecule that packed twice the punch of its parents, while being completely unknown to the DEA, twenty parts super concentrated dopamine production stimulator, twenty parts – super-concentrated dopamine re-uptake inhibitor. Plus one small part of essence of safrole, just because I liked it. The lab mice liked it, too. Once Fuzzwad survived a dose and pronounced it “primo”, I was all set.

I don't think I'd cut the overall flow. Not everything advances the plot, but there's a lot of character packed into these lines. I also have to be careful with cutting too much -- part of the charm of the piece is the rattle-bang prattle of the main character.

Let's start.

---

Original:

I hadn't just blindly picked a school, because it was my parents' alma mater, either.

"just", "blindly", and "either" redundant -- they all give the impression that he's justifying his choice of schools. It's a minor point, and not worth that level of effort. Pick one, save two words (13%).

Cut:

I hadn't picked the school just because it was my parents' alma mater.

---

Original:

I had been following the list of staff publications with some interest for the last few years.

I assume he'd been following "the list of staff publications" because he wanted to follow the staff publications, and later he shows that he had actually read them, not just the list, so we can cut "the list". Also, if he's been following them "for years", odds are he had followed them "with interest", which is therefore redundant.

"Had been following" uses a form of "to be", which can often (though not always) be cut.

Cut:

I had followed the staff publications for years.

Savings: 9 words, 53%.

---

Original:

Mom wasn't kidding when she said Dad was one of the best organic chemists of his time. It's just that his time peaked in about 1962.

I might cut this altogether. I'll have to see what I think when I put it all back together. If the author wanted to leave it in, I'd do something like this:

And Dad really was one of the best organic chemists of his time -- though that peaked around 1962.

Savings: 7 words, 27%.

---

Original:

Anyways, one of the professors in the organic chemistry department had been working on developing a strain of ergot resistant rye for years.

If I cut the preceding sentence, I'll probably cut "Anyways," but I'll leave it in for now.

"...of the professors in the organic chemistry department": prepositional phrases, especially strings of them, can often be cut. This can be laborious, and I don't always think the result sounds as natural as I'd like, but it's something to look for. And in this case, I think it works.

And now that I think of it, we might be able to cut "organic chemistry", too -- does it really matter what he teaches?

"working on" is redundant with "developing".

Since the work is ongoing, "had been" can go to "was". And do we need to know that it had been going on "for years", or just that it is finally going to trial? No, I think, and the next sentence will change, too, as a result.

Cut:

Anyways, a professor was developing a strain of ergot resistant rye.

Savings: 12 words, 52%.

I should point out that the next paragraph, starting with "It's a really sad commentary", might be inserted here. If ergot needs explaining, it should probably be explained closer to where it's first mentioned.

---

Original:

He finally thought he had got it right, and the university was funding a full scale trial of the new rye, to the tune of ten acres, along with a matching trial on ten non-resistant control acres.

Since I didn't say "for years" in the preceding sentence, I don't have to say "He finally thought he had got it right" in this one. All that matters is the trial.

Since the previous sentence's "ergot resistant rye" is now much closer to "full-scale trial", I think we can cut "trial of the new rye" to just "trial". As I cut the rest of the sentence, though -- where she talks about the "matching trial", which is just the control group for the same trial -- I thought "ten acres" now needed the "of the new rye", so that ended up being a reshuffle.

Cut:

The university was funding a full-scale trial, to the tune of ten acres of the new rye and ten non-resistant control acres.

Savings: 15 words, 41%.

---

Original:

They were going through a pretty elaborate process to keep it all buttoned up and prevent the ergot from drifting away free into the atmosphere, but I thought I could liberate a reasonable quantity of it for my own use. With Mom's hidden heartland acres to work with. I could be knee deep in ergot by the end of the next growing season.

"They were going through a pretty elaborate process to" seems long.

"keep it all buttoned up" is redundant with "prevent the ergot from drifting away free into the atmosphere". "prevent [etc.]" seems pretty long, too, now that I think of it...

"in ergot by the end of the next growing season": prepositional phrase strings again. "in ergot" relates to something different (type of harvest) from "by the end of the next growing season" (time of harvest), so I won't collapse them completely, but how about "knee deep in ergot by the next harvest season"? (You might even be able to cut "season", but I don't know whether you harvest ergot at the same time you harvest the rye.)

Cut:

Elaborate processes kept the ergot from drifting away into the atmosphere, but I thought I could liberate a reasonable quantity of it for my own use. Mom's hidden heartland acres would be knee deep in ergot by the next harvest season.

Savings: 39 words, 37%.

Later, when I saw all of it together, I thought I could cut this even more. I don't really care about the ergot drifting away or the elaborate procedures.

---

Original:

It's really a sad commentary on our society that most people don't even know what ergot is anymore. In case you are wondering why I was so hot to get my hands on a quantity, the ergot fungus is what LSD was first synthesized from. Crazy, huh? They think now that that's how the Salem Witch Hunts got started – some funky rye bread was making the rounds, and BAM! Everybody went off on the same bad trip.

"on our society", "even", and "anymore" are all candidates to be cut, but I liked the flavor of this sentence with them more than I did without them. Heck, even I don't cut everything possible.

That said, "In case you were wondering...quantity" is almost useless, hardly even contributing to the voice. Cut it.

"the ergot fungus is what LSD was first synthesized from": two forms of "to be" should send a signal that this might be cuttable. I ended up leaving one of them, even though it's clearly passive voice: I think going to an active voice with this sentence is likely to detract from the character's voice.

Cut:

It's a sad commentary on our society that most people don't even know that LSD was first synthesized from the ergot fungus. Crazy, huh? People think that's how the Salem Witch Hunts got started – some funky rye bread was making the rounds, and BAM! Everybody went off on the same bad trip.

Savings: 25 words, 32%.

---

Original:

I had some ideas on how to extract the lysergic acid from the ergot and combine it was a couple of other tasty little items complements of Tab's home cookin' – a recipe all my own, that would let it pack a wallop, make sure the trip was a good one, and fly under the FDA radar detectors for a while.

I want to be careful not to cut too much here, since this is so strongly the main character's voice.

Note that the last sentence talked about "by the next harvest season." The narrator is thinking of the future. That lets me reduce "I had some ideas on how to" (looking to the past, "I had") to "I'd" (looking to the future).

"combine it with a couple of other tasty little items complements of Tab's home cookin'" just seems long. "tasty little items", "complements of", and "home cookin'" all add a particular flavor (ouch! sorry about that...) to the sentence, but it's the same flavor. Let's cut two of the three, leaving the strongest in place. The author can put one or both back later if she likes.

There are some other cuts in the second half that you can see, and I made one correction that also happens to be a cut: nobody flies under a radar detector, just under a radar. :)

Cut:

I'd extract lysergic acid from the ergot and add some of Tab's home cookin' – a recipe all my own that packs wallop, makes a good trip, and flies under the FDA radar for a while.

Savings: 25 words, 42%.

---

Original:

It almost killed me trying to stay calm, cool and collected when, the first week of class, the prof I was stalking asked for volunteers to help him with his pet project. I could quote him chapter and verse on the papers he'd published in the last ten years. And, hey, professors don't get a lot of groupies. Plus, no one else had volunteered, so it's not like he had a big choice. It was just too damn early in the semester for any of these short-sighted college kids to be worrying about extra credit. Their loss,my immensely profitable secret gain.

Heh. I get a kick out of this, especially the last line. My goal is to cut the words without cutting the kick.

"calm, cool and collected" is both cliche and long. Of the three, I think this guy would say "cool".

"don't get a lot of groupies", "no one else had volunteered", "not like he had a big choice", and "too damn early [etc.]" all say roughly the same thing.

Cut:

It almost killed me trying to stay cool when, the first week of class, the prof I was stalking asked for volunteers for his pet project. He didn't have much choice: it's not like professors get a lot of groupies, and it was too damn early in the semester for college kids to worry about extra credit. Their loss, my immensely profitable secret gain.

Savings: 37 words, 37%.

---

Original:

I spent so much time hanging around the labs and doing odd jobs for the professor, that after a few weeks, nobody even bothered to ask me what I was doing anymore.

Cut:

After a few weeks of hanging around the labs and doing odd jobs for the professor, nobody bothered to ask what I was doing.

Savings: 8 words, 25%.

---

Original:

I swiped a small amount of the ergot fungus, and a heaping helping of the non-resistant control rye seed. I like plants, and rye is not illegal.

I think the second sentence is unnecessary.

Cut:

I swiped a little ergot and a heaping helping of non-resistant rye seed.

Savings: 14 words, 52%.

---

Original:

Mom, of course, really wanted me to do well in school, so she gave me five acres of my own on her little backwoods farm, and I was able to get it turned just in time for the grow season. In Michigan, everything grows, so it was pretty much a no-brainer. A little organic fertilizer, some of Mom's special Bug-Be-Gone spray, and voila! Rye crop.

"Mom". LOL... Can't lose that. In fact, I've got almost nothing to change.

Cut:

Mom, of course, really wanted me to do well in school, so she gave me five acres on her little backwoods farm. I got it turned just in time for the grow season. In Michigan, everything grows, so it was pretty much a no-brainer. A little organic fertilizer, some of Mom's special Bug-Be-Gone spray, and voila! Rye crop.

Savings: 7 words, 11%.

---

Original:

Once the rye was successfully impregnated by the ergot, it was a downhill slide. I had enough of the fungus to psychedelicize the entire city of Detroit for about 100 years. And I was just getting started.

I don't think we need the details -- we know that the fungus grows on the rye.

Cut:

Soon I had enough fungus to psychedelicize the entire city of Detroit for about 100 years. And I was just getting started.

Savings: 15 words, 41%.

---

Original:

I really admired the creators of ecstasy, in an abstract sort of way, and this was the kind of success story I was shooting for. See, ecstasy is a combination of LSD and a stimulant, usually meth or cocaine (these are the components that stimulate all-important dopamine production). You get the fantastical trippiness of the LSD, driven by the dopamine ding-dong of the coke or meth. It was a pretty sound idea, overall, and I wasn't too proud to build on the work of those who came before me. I just wanted a dopamine driver that wouldn't show up on your basic four-panel drug screen.

Okay, this has nothing to do with cutting, but I get totally caught up in the drug related-but-apparently-not-induced insanity of the main character in bits like this.

Anyway (which is not "anyways" -- this narrator drives me a little crazy (in a good way) with that), I can't get rid of things like "fantastical trippiness". I didn't want to get rid of the "dopamine ding-dong of the coke or meth", even though we could say "dopamine ding-dong of the stimulant." What we'd save doesn't justify changing that crazy voice. Just minor cuts here.

Cut:

I really admired the creators of ecstasy, and I was shooting for their kind of success story. See, ecstasy combines LSD with a stimulant, usually meth or cocaine, to stimulate the all-important dopamine production. You get the fantastical trippiness of the LSD, driven by the dopamine ding-dong of the coke or meth. I wasn't too proud to build on the work of those who came before me. I just wanted a dopamine driver that wouldn't show up on your basic four-panel drug screen.

Savings: 21 words, 20%.

---

Original:

Once I had the LSD, Mom and Fuzzwad and I developed the worst cases of chronic major depression ever seen in the Midwest, thanks to the floridly verbose professor in the psych class I elected. Between the depression and the doctor shopping and the fact that nobody had ever heard of someone getting addicted to anti-depressants, we ended up with enough prescription medication to sedate turn J.R. Ewing into a nice guy for an entire season.

This part seemed a little unclear to me, and I think that some bits (e.g., "the floridly verbose professor") aren't really needed.

Cut:

Once I had the LSD, Mom and Fuzzwad and I developed the worst cases of chronic major depression ever seen, and since nobody ever gets addicted to anti-depressants, we got enough prescription meds to turn J.R. Ewing into a nice guy for an entire season.

Savings: 31 words, 41%.

---

Original:

Most amazing of all, out of nearly a hundred doctors we visited, a whopping seventeen of them left their prescription pads alone in the room with one of us at some point during their examinations. You know, somebody should warn them about people like us.

"alone in the room with one of us at some point" is a long string of prepositional phrases. In this case, we can cut most of them.

I almost kept the "You know", but decided that cutting it doesn't significantly affect the voice.

Cut:

Most amazing of all, out of nearly a hundred doctors, a whopping seventeen left us alone with their prescription pads at some point. Somebody should warn them about people like us.

Savings: 14 words, 31%.

---

Original:

Cautioning my troops (all two of them) to take a reasonable, not noticeable, amount of scrip papers from each pad, I was really in business.

"reasonable, not noticeable, amount" is almost redundant. I decided to say "reasonably small number" instead. Even though it doesn't cut the number of words by much, it eliminates an... um... I think it's "appositional phrase" -- a phrase set off in commas -- that was slowing down the sentence.

I've been cutting "really" a lot because it seems overused. I might keep it in this case, but I don't need it, so I'd rather cut it, come back to it in a few weeks, and see if it really makes a difference.

Cut:

Cautioning my troops (all two of them) to take a reasonably small number of scrips from each pad, I was in business.

Savings: 3 words, 12%.

---

Original:

The pills were even simpler to break down and extract the psychoactive components of than the lysergic acid in the ergot had been. Being able to do it all on the university dime, with university's lab equipment only made it easier. I even got Mom in the building a couple of times to assist with the separations. You know, she really is a whiz in the lab. No wonder Dad was so crazy about her.

The first sentence felt a little clunky, mostly because of the opening section that ends in "components of". It also had two "to be" forms ("were even simpler" and "ergot had been").

I liked the voice in the last three sentences, and found nothing worth changing.

Cut:

I could extract the psychoactive components even more easily from the pills than from ergot -- on the university's dime, with the university's lab equipment. I even got Mom in the building a couple of times to assist with the separations. You know, she really is a whiz in the lab. No wonder Dad was so crazy about her.

Savings: 16 words, 21%.

---

Original:

So, there was my recipe: one part LSD, which had combined nicely with an experimental steroid into a completely new molecule that packed twice the punch of its parents, while being completely unknown to the DEA, twenty parts super concentrated dopamine production stimulator, twenty parts – super-concentrated dopamine re-uptake inhibitor. Plus one small part of essence of safrole, just because I liked it. The lab mice liked it, too. Once Fuzzwad survived a dose and pronounced it “primo”, I was all set.

Cut:

So, there was my recipe: one part LSD, blended with an experimental steroid into a completely new double-strength DEA-evading molecule, twenty parts super-concentrated dopamine stimulator, twenty parts super-concentrated dopamine re-uptake inhibitor -- plus one part essence of safrole, just because I liked it. The lab mice liked it, too. Once Fuzzwad survived a dose and pronounced it “primo”, I was all set.

Savings: 19 words, 23%.

---

Okay. That brings us to the complete final copy -- and, when I saw this all together, I edited another hundred words out. Far from cheating, I think it's really necessary to read the whole thing in context to make sure that you haven't messed things up.

I hadn't picked the school just because it was my parents' alma mater. I had followed the staff publications for years, and a professor was developing a strain of ergot resistant rye. It's a sad commentary on our society that most people don't even know that LSD was first synthesized from the ergot fungus. Crazy, huh? People think that's how the Salem Witch Hunts got started – some funky rye bread was making the rounds, and BAM! Everybody went off on the same bad trip.

Anyways, the university was funding a full-scale trial, to the tune of ten acres of the new rye and ten non-resistant control acres. I thought I could liberate enough ergot to get Mom's hidden heartland acres knee deep in it by the next harvest season. I'd extract lysergic acid from the ergot and add some of Tab's home cookin' – a recipe all my own that would pack a wallop, make a good trip, and fly under the FDA radar.

It almost killed me trying to stay cool when, the first week of class, the prof I was stalking asked for volunteers for his pet project. He didn't have much choice: it's not like professors get a lot of groupies, and it was too damn early in the semester for college kids to worry about extra credit. Their loss, my immensely profitable secret gain.

After a few weeks of doing odd jobs for the professor, nobody bothered to ask what I was doing. I swiped a little ergot and a heaping helping of non-resistant rye seed. Mom, of course, really wanted me to do well in school, so she gave me five acres on her little backwoods farm. I got it turned just in time for the grow season. In Michigan, everything grows, so it was pretty much a no-brainer. A little organic fertilizer, some of Mom's special Bug-Be-Gone spray, and voila! Rye crop.

Soon I had enough fungus to psychedelicize the entire city of Detroit for about 100 years. And I was just getting started.

I really admired the creators of ecstasy, and I was shooting for their kind of success story. See, ecstasy combines LSD with a stimulant, usually meth or cocaine, to stimulate the all-important dopamine production. You get the fantastical trippiness of the LSD, driven by the dopamine ding-dong of the coke or meth. I wasn't too proud to build on the work of those who came before me. I just wanted a dopamine driver that wouldn't show up on your basic four-panel drug screen.

Once I had the LSD, Mom and Fuzzwad and I developed the worst cases of chronic major depression ever seen, and since nobody ever gets addicted to anti-depressants, we got enough prescription meds to turn J.R. Ewing into a nice guy. Most amazing of all, out of nearly a hundred doctors, a whopping seventeen left us alone with their prescription pads at some point. Somebody should warn them about people like us. Cautioning my troops (all two of them) to take a reasonably small number of scrips from each pad, I was in business.

I could extract the psychoactive components even more easily from the pills than from ergot -- on the university's dime, with the university's lab equipment. I even got Mom in the building a couple of times to assist with the separations. You know, she really is a whiz in the lab. No wonder Dad was so crazy about her.

So, there was my recipe: one part LSD, blended with an experimental steroid into a completely new double-strength DEA-evading molecule; twenty parts super-concentrated dopamine stimulator; twenty parts super-concentrated dopamine re-uptake inhibitor -- plus one part essence of safrole, just because I liked it. The lab mice liked it, too. Once Fuzzwad survived a dose and pronounced it “primo”, I was all set.

638 words from 987: a 35% cut.

As always, I don't recommend taking my suggestions blindly. Deb should put this part of the story down, come back in a few weeks, and see what she misses from the original.

What do you think?

Regards,
Jake

UPDATE: One word changed based on Mark's comments below.

Cutting a Piece of Art

Watch what you ask for.

I told the denizens of Hatrack River that I wanted some stuff to cut, and the first person who responded was Djvdakota, a mature writer with an economical style. This one will be tough.

She sent me a flash piece, a haunting vignette in which a puppet describes his life. It's just under 800 words. I don't want there to be issues with publication rights, so I'm only excerpting about a quarter of it, or 185 words.

---

The puppetmaster has just kissed the face of a puppet (not the narrator) that he has selected for tonight's performance.

Does he know what we are? Does he know of the fallen souls that inhabit his puppets?

Sometimes I think he does.

The rest of us stay where we are, stacked one atop the other, cushioned with dozens of colorful silk costumes--costumes that the audience will see only in silhouette, simple shadows of what we really are. We listen and wait for Master to set up his screen and position his lanterns. Only then does he take us out, but only those he needs. Sometimes five, sometimes twelve. Sometimes I wait weeks between the nights he chooses me, but every time he opens the trunks I hope for a glimpse of sky or stars. Otherwise I pass the hours and days praying. It's fruitless, I know. I've long since spent every opportunity I had to redeem myself. But what else is there to do? Fret over the dark or the damp? Seethe over Bung Ok's elbow jammed against my nose?

Bung can't help it of course. Poor bastard. He's no more capable of independent movement than I. Only at the Master's bidding do we...

Boy. I don't want to cut any of it. But what if she had to? What if she were working on an entry to a contest that had a maximum for the number of words, and she needed to shave everything she could?

I'm not messing with djvdakota's meaning, really -- her meaning is clear throughout -- so I'm messing with her art. I have to tread lightly, and she may not like what I do here, but here's what I think:

1. Trim every word that isn't absolutely necessary, slightly rearranging words if need be -- but not ruining the tone that she's given us. This isn't as easy as it sounds, because sometimes words that aren't needed to convey meaning are needed to convey tone. You can't cut every "superfluous" word.

2. Identify the functions of this part of the story. This is tricky because language can work at different levels, and something can serve more than one function. If you're not sensitive to what you're cutting, you might cut something necessary without realizing it. You need the author's feedback to ensure that you're getting it right.

I should warn that side-by-side comparison doesn't fully work here. I do it to show what I did, but I think the only way to know whether a cut is acceptable is to come back to it a week later and read the cut version to see if you miss what was there before, then go back to the original and see if it's substantially better.

Let's start.

---

Does he know what we are? Does he know of the fallen souls that inhabit his puppets?

These two questions mean the same thing, but the repetition's needed to keep the tone. I don't think I can either cut one out completely or combine the two. That means I can only slightly rephrase.

Does he know what we are? Does he know that fallen souls inhabit his puppets?

Notice the rhythm: "Does he know of the fallen souls that inhabit his puppets?" vs. "Does he know that fallen souls inhabit his puppets?" Djvdakota's original is softer, perhaps pleading; mine is more rhythmically intense, more demanding. Which is better? For me, it's too soon to say.

---

Sometimes I think he does.

There's nothing to cut here; however, if the function of this sentence is to accuse the puppetmaster, we might say it thus:

He must.

This is more certain that Dvjdakota's version, but the preceding questions ensure that the reader knows that the puppet harbors some doubt.

---

The rest of us stay where we are, stacked one atop the other, cushioned with dozens of colorful silk costumes--costumes that the audience will see only in silhouette, simple shadows of what we really are.

This is tough. There are lots of ways to trim it, but none may be successful. It's beautiful writing, already packed with feeling. How can you cut this?

• "stay" and "where we are" give the reader the sense of stasis.
• "stacked", reinforced with "one atop the other", feels claustrophobic.
• "cushioned" and "dozens of...silk costumes" provides relief -- but ironically, as these beautiful things are smothering the puppet (though, horrifyingly, not to death).
• "colorful" links to the silhouette and shadow of the stuff after the em dash.
• "simple shadows of what we really are" resonates. Explicitly, the audience sees only the silhouette, which isn't as beautiful as the puppet in his clothing; this implicitly ties to the Master, who sees only a puppet in pretty clothing instead of a living soul

I'll try. It's not terribly comfortable, but I always cut more than I'm comfortable with at first. I can always put it back in.

• We can cut reinforcing phrases and condense things that have similar functions.
• We can change "will see" to "sees", since we're talking about an ongoing action.
• I don't think we can cut the pause in the middle (currently an em dash) without losing the resonance of color and silhouette, but we might be able to modify it a little bit.
• "Cushioned" counterbalances "stacked" and highlights the action of the "silk costumes" -- so maybe I can rely on "silk costumes" alone to counterbalance "stacked" instead.

That gets me here:

The rest of us stay stacked among colorful silk costumes--costumes that the audience sees only in silhouette, obscuring shadows of what we are.

I could cut "that" from "costumes that the audience", but it just didn't feel right. I think it's the rhythm that stops me.

"Obscuring shadows" is ambiguous, which may be too poetic; personally, I think that's okay here. The clause could mean that the silhouette of the clothing obscures the outlines of the puppets, or that the silhouettes are preventing the audience from seeing the puppets, which are themselves shadows of the souls that the puppets really are. There may be more ambiguity there, too -- I'm sure somebody would help me figure it out if I re-read his book.

---

We listen and wait for Master to set up his screen and position his lanterns.

I couldn't cut this. The specificity and tension were too important.

---

Only then does he take us out, but only those he needs. Sometimes five, sometimes twelve.

We can't remove "only", because of the tension. We can't remove the sentence, because this is the moment the puppets long for. Maybe, but just maybe we can say:

Only then does he take out those needs. Sometimes five, sometimes twelve.

---

Sometimes I wait weeks between the nights he chooses me, but every time he opens the trunks I hope for a glimpse of sky or stars.

"Sometimes" parallels the sentence before it, so it stays. "I wait weeks" could be "weeks pass", but the former is active and the latter is passive. "every time" can't be replaced by "when" because we need to keep the sense of eternal repetition.

Sometimes I wait weeks for him to choose me, but every time the trunks open I hope for a glimpse of sky or stars.

That's a lot of effort for two words out of twenty-six, but it's still an almost-eight-percent cut.

---

Otherwise I pass the hours and days praying. It's fruitless, I know. I've long since spent every opportunity I had to redeem myself. But what else is there to do? Fret over the dark or the damp? Seethe over Bung Ok's elbow jammed against my nose?

"hours and days", though redundant, gives a sense of monotony that I don't want to eliminate. Maybe I can restructure...

Otherwise I pass the hours and days praying fruitlessly; my opportunities for redemption are spent. But what else shall I do? Fret over the dark or the damp? Seethe over Bung Ok's elbow jammed against my nose?

I love Bung Ok's name, by the way.

---

Bung can't help it of course. Poor bastard. He's no more capable of independent movement than I. Only at the Master's bidding do we...

"Poor bastard" and "of course" are redundant; specifically, "Poor bastard" in this context contains a superset of "of course"'s meaning.

"capable of independent movement" seemed to be too much. It's clinical. Technically, Bung Ok is no more capable of movement than the narrator, to "independent" is unnecessary, but leaving it out makes you think about the fact that they really can move, just not alone... well, maybe we can cut through that with fewer words.

Bung can't help it, poor bastard. He moves no more freely than I. Only at the Master's bidding do we...

---

Here's the result:

Does he know what we are? Does he know that fallen souls inhabit his puppets?

He must.

The rest of us stay stacked among colorful silk costumes--costumes that the audience sees only in silhouette, obscuring shadows of what we are. We listen and wait for Master to set up his screen and position his lanterns. Only then does he take out those he needs. Sometimes five, sometimes twelve. Sometimes I wait weeks for him to choose me, but every time the trunks open I hope for a glimpse of sky or stars. Otherwise I pass the hours and days praying fruitlessly; my opportunities for redemption are spent. But what else shall I do? Fret over the dark or the damp? Seethe over Bung Ok's elbow jammed against my nose?

Bung can't help it, poor bastard. He moves no more freely than I. Only at the Master's bidding do we...

150 words: a 19% cut.

We have an angrier puppet, and Djvdakota must decide whether she likes that. In fact, it would be perfectly reasonable for her to put back most of what I've taken out. But at least we've explored some of the possibilities.

I'll shut up now. What do you think?

Short Story Opener

My brother is on the same writer's workshop that I participate in as Oliver House. He recently posted the first 13 lines of a short story he's writing (we only do 13 lines there to preserve copyright and because it's the first page of a properly formatted manuscript), and agreed that I could blog about the cuts that I suggested.

Here's his original:

Harvey Alvarez lost his nerve. Does that count? The experiment intended to find out if it was possible to change the past. There were two schools. The "Yes" school and the "No" school as Jacobson so eloquently liked to call them. Alvarez, like Jacobson, was of the "Yes" school. They didn't want to disrupt the time continuum until they knew what they were doing, so the team of scientists targeted a recent event from which a change would cause modest and recent consequences. Alvarez traveled back six months in time to prevent the president of the university from spilling bisque on his tie. And he lost his nerve.

It was a simple task. Because of the incident, the president of the University of Nebraska at Lincoln, Orville Farnsworth, lost

I critiqued the whole thing there, but I'll limit myself here to things that are relevant to cutting, and I might expand on those a little bit.

I like the first sentence -- he must have been doing something that set him a little on edge, and he has a problem because he lost his nerve -- but the following sentence, "Does that count?" simply seems not to follow, and doesn't seem to add any value.

My brother disagrees with me, by the way, because it's important to the overall story. Perhaps, but I contend that it still doesn't matter to the first manuscript page. And since it's my blog, I win. :)

There were two schools. The "Yes" school and the "No" school as Jacobson so eloquently liked to call them. Alvarez, like Jacobson, was of the "Yes" school.

The second sentence is a fragment, and unnecessary because if one school is "Yes" the reader assumes that the other is "No". (If one were "yes" and the other "maybe", it might be worth mentioning.) He could be making fun of the banality of having two separately named and distinct "Yes" and "No" schools, but (a) if that's so then the humor doesn't work for me (though I'm only one guy, and he shouldn't trust me), and (b) it's an awful lot of words to spend on a first page making a banality joke -- 27 words out of a first page of 129 words, or 21%.

These three sentences could be condensed into 'There were two schools, and Alvarez, like his colleague Jacobson, was of the "Yes" school.' As it happens, I collapsed them even more with other sentences.

To cut to the chase: I thought there were some excess phrases ("Because of the incident" could be cut if it were clear that its antecedent was caused by the incident), some redundancies ("the president of the university" was followed by another sentence that said "the president of the University of Nebraska at Lincoln"), and a few implications that get spelled out (I thought it was clear that the task was simple, so while "It was a simple task" adds a little flavor, it isn't strictly necessary). These indicated that some mild restructuring could have a significant effect. I cut it to 75 words from 129, or 42%.

Harvey Alvarez had lost his nerve. He and Jacobson believed that they would be able to change the past, and to test their theory the scientists had targeted a recent event -- a trivial incident, really -- from which a change would cause modest and recent consequences. Alvarez traveled back six months to prevent Orville Farnsworth, president of the University of Nebraska at Lincoln, from spilling bisque on his tie. And he lost his nerve.

As with anything else, you can cut deep first and put stuff back later. "It was a simple task" could be worked back in, as could the dry "Yes-school / No-school" humor. He's the author, not me. But at least we know that the information we need is here, in half the space -- which means half of the first manuscript page is now freed up for other relevant stuff.

Good writing!

Example: Old Oak

This excerpt is from "Old Oak", an unpublished story that was a finalist (though not in the top 25 and therefore not on the Web site) of the Glimmer Train Press's Fiction Open. Since I had already edited it pretty tightly, it should be tough to cut more.

As a rule of thumb, cut deeply, more than you feel comfortable with; then, if you can, set the manuscript aside for a week. Come back and see if you miss any of the words you had taken out. If you did, add them back in (make sure you saved your previous version!). Because you cut deeply, even if you add back a third of what you took out, you'll still have a pretty steep reduction in word count.

I'm not going to fully take my own advice here, because (a) I had already successfully cut 20% before submitting to Glimmer Train, and (b) I want my first blog post to go up. (Deadlines are deadlines, even if self-imposed.) Let's see if I can get 10% out of this section of "Old Oak". The original is 811 words, so I'm shooting for a reduction of 81 words, or 730 total.

Here's the original text:

For the next stage he needed help. His sons had worked with him when they were young men; John had left the business to become an attorney, but Alex had continued in the cabinetmaker's craft for a decade before becoming a general contractor. Alex was a better chip carver than his father, and his original patterns often appeared in woodworking magazines. His best work, a complete set of kitchen cabinets he had made and decorated for one of the local Brahmins, had appeared in Better Homes and Gardens.

"I don't get it, Dad," he said. "This whole thing is a little creepy."

"No, it's not. It's my coffin, so I get to decide what's creepy. I want it to be beautiful."

"Why?" Alex rubbed his eyes. "Do you think the ants care how good your coffin looks?"

"There won't be ants six feet under."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do."

The two men looked at each other, the father placidly grinning, the son pursing his lips.

Alex finally dropped his eyes. "All right, Dad. If that's what you want."

Terrence didn't want Alex to tell anyone what the design was for, but there was no way to keep it quiet. How could his wife miss an elongated hexagon stretching over a man-sized sheet of butcher paper? Once she knew, there was no keeping it from anyone. Shelley's phone call came just two days after Alex left the shop. The call wore him out, but at least he knew that Alex had already started working.

John stopped by the church the next afternoon, rapping five times on the heavy oak door.

"Dad?"

"Come here. Look."

Terrence sat in the front pew near his workbench. His heart fluttered a little, but he willfully pretended it was elation. "Look," he said again. "The carcase is done. Ain't she beautiful?" He followed the swirling lines of deep honey brown as they flowed down the unfinished coffin. "All built, but no polyurethane on her yet. It's almost a shame to put it on."

"Right," John said. "You know it's no shame, dad. You always love the raw wood, and then you love it even more when you've shined her up."

Terrence grinned. "Well, I'm allowed." He stood up and pointed to the joint that would be next to his left elbow. "You see how the curve of the grain meets the edge here? And look here," he said, pointing at the narrow piece that would be above the top of his head, "wormholes, right in the middle of some nice tight grain. There's so much going on in that board, I could look at it all day."

"Is that why you're doing this? To look at the wood?"

He continued to gaze at the wormholes. "Sure," he said at last. "That's one reason." He turned and sat again on the pew.

"So why not build something else? I bet these benches would make a damn good hutch."

"Right." A silence settled between them like a layer of new-fallen snow. Finally Terrence took his eyes off the coffin, looked at his son. John had moved to the foot of the coffin, inspecting it — or at least acting like he was. "You won't find any flaws."

John laughed, and Terrence thought it was genuine. "When you don't figure that wormholes are flaws, I guess you're right," he said.

"Those are the best part."

"Right," John said. He ran his fingers along the rabbet that would hold the piano hinge.

Terrence smiled. He knew that John wouldn't find a single splinter — and he knew that John knew it, too.

"Dad, what are you doing?"

Finally. "Making a coffin."

"Dad," John said, "what are you doing?"

"Asked and answered."

The edges of John's mouth curled. Terrence loved it when he could make John smile, even a little bit. "You're still watching Law and Order, I guess."

"Go ahead, ask me something else."

"Why a coffin?"

"Why not?"

"Because you've got better things to do."

"Name two."

John wrinkled his nose in just that way — his mother's habit, when she didn't want to tell Terrence how annoyed she was with him.

"John, you wouldn't want me to stop combing my hair just because I'm gonna die sometime, would you?"

"You could teach the boys how to work wood."

"And I'm going to do that," Terrence said, "just as soon as I'm done with this project."

"Why wait?"

"Why not?"

"If you think this much— " John began. Then he scratched his head and rubbed his nose, as if chasing the words around his face. "If you think this much about dying, I'd think you'd want to get started sooner rather than later."

Terrence smiled, a real smile, large as the ocean. "That's why I've gotta do it now, John. Nobody else will worry about it as much as me."

I didn't quite make my goal. Here's what I came up with in half an hour:

For the next stage he needed help. His sons had worked with him as young men; John left the business to become an attorney, but Alex had continued as a cabinetmaker for a decade before becoming a general contractor. Alex was a better chip carver than his father, and his original patterns often appeared in woodworking magazines. His best work, a set of kitchen cabinets he had made and decorated for one of the local Brahmins, had appeared in Better Homes and Gardens.

"I don't get it, Dad," he said. "This whole thing is a little creepy."

"No, it's not. It's my coffin, so I decide what's creepy. I want it beautiful."

"Why?" Alex rubbed his eyes. "Do you think the ants care how good your coffin looks?"

"There won't be ants six feet under."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do."

The two men looked at each other, the father placidly grinning, the son pursing his lips.

Alex dropped his eyes. "All right, Dad. If that's what you want."

Terrence didn't want anyone to know, but how could Alex's wife miss a man-sized hexagon traced on a sheet of butcher paper? She must have told Shelley, because she called Terrence just two days after Alex left the shop. The call wore him out, but at least he knew that Alex had started working.

John stopped by the church the next afternoon, rapping five times on the heavy oak door.

"Dad?"

"Come here. Look."

Terrence sat in the front pew near his workbench. He pretended that the fluttering of his heart was elation. "Look," he said again. "The carcase is done. Ain't she beautiful?" He followed the lines of deep honey as they flowed down the coffin. "All built, but no polyurethane yet. Almost a shame to put it on her."

"Right," John said. "You know it's no shame, dad. You always love the raw wood, and then you love it more when you've shined her up."

Terrence grinned. "Well, I'm allowed." He stood up and pointed to the joint that would be next to his left elbow. "See how the curve of the grain meets the edge here? And here," he said, pointing at the narrow piece that would be above the top of his head, "wormholes, right smack in some nice tight grain. There's so much going on, I could look at that board all day."

"Is that why you're doing this? To look at the wood?"

He continued to gaze at the wormholes. "Sure," he said at last. "That's one reason." He turned and sat again on the pew.

"So why not build something else? I bet these benches would make a damn good hutch."

"Right." A silence settled between them like a layer of new-fallen snow. Finally Terrence took his eyes off the coffin, looked at his son. John was inspecting the foot of the coffin — or at least pretending to. "You won't find any flaws."

John laughed, and Terrence thought it was genuine. "When you don't figure that wormholes are flaws, I guess you're right," he said.

"Those are the best part."

"Right," John said. He ran his fingers along the rabbet that would hold the piano hinge.

Terrence smiled. He knew that John wouldn't find a single splinter — and he knew that John knew it, too.

"Dad, what are you doing?"

Finally. "Making a coffin."

"Dad," John said, "what are you doing?"

"Asked and answered."

The edges of John's mouth curled. Terrence loved it when he could make John smile, even a little bit. "You're still watching Law and Order, I guess."

"Go ahead, ask me something else."

"Why a coffin?"

"Why not?"

"Because you've got better things to do."

"Name two."

John wrinkled his nose in just that way — his mother's habit, when she didn't want to tell Terrence how annoyed she was with him.

"John, I wouldn't stop combing my hair just because I'm gonna die sometime, would I?"

"You could teach the boys how to work wood."

"And I'll do that," Terrence said, "just as soon as I'm done with this project."

"Why wait?"

"Why not?"

"If you think this much— " John began. Then he scratched his head and rubbed his nose, as if chasing the words around his face. "If you think this much about dying, I'd think you'd want to get started sooner rather than later."

Terrence smiled, a real smile, large as the ocean. "That's why I've gotta do it now, John. Nobody else will worry about it as much as me."

That's a total of almost 55 words, or almost 7%. Although I didn't make my goal, I did go a little bit beyond my comfort zone, which is important. Cutting isn't everything, but it's too easy to cut too little. You can always put words back in.

Where did the words come from? Why did I cut so few of them?

• Unnecessary description. This is a tough one for me personally. What's "unnecessary"? In the original, I wrote, "His best work, a complete set of kitchen cabinets". But does the reader really need to know that it was "a complete set"? "Complete" was cut from the final version. You can do a "death by a thousand cuts" walkthrough of a manuscript just looking for this type of one- or two-word cut to be made, over and over again.



• Slight phrase alterations. I have to read a document in "cutting mode" to handle this. I can't just be editing, although sometimes while editing I notice where little alterations can fit; I have to read with my mind set to bounce around a bunch of alternative phrases.
  
  For example, the original read, "His sons had worked with him when they were young men". The cut version says, "His sons had worked with him as young men". The trigger here was seeing "were": forms of "to be" very often can be reworked.



• Reworking paragraphs. I do this a lot in my own work, but I don't do it often for other people. Too often, you can change what the text sounds like. When I reworked a paragraph in this example, I wasn't very comfortable with the results, but I think I'll sit on it for a while before I decide what to do. Here's the original:
  

  Terrence didn't want Alex to tell anyone what the design was for, but there was no way to keep it quiet. How could his wife miss an elongated hexagon stretching over a man-sized sheet of butcher paper? Once she knew, there was no keeping it from anyone. Shelley's phone call came just two days after Alex left the shop. The call wore him out, but at least he knew that Alex had already started working.

  ...and here's the final:

  Terrence didn't want anyone to know, but how could Alex's wife miss a man-sized hexagon traced on a sheet of butcher paper? She must have told Shelley, because she called Terrence just two days after Alex left the shop. The call wore him out, but at least he knew that Alex had started working.

  
  Word count: 54 vs. 75, or 28%.



• Dialogue. Most dialogue isn't concise, so I couldn't easily cut superfluous phrases without sounding unnatural. Since most of this section was dialogue, I couldn't cut everything as far to the bone as I might like. When Alex says "All right, Dad. If that's what you want", either the first sentence or the second could be cut without changing the meaning; but that didn't sound like a real person talking. (To see whether something sounds natural, try reading the passage -- not just one sentence in isolation -- out loud.)
  
  On the other hand, I had already decided that Terrence would be terse, so I could cut him in several spots: "And I'm going to do that" became "And I'll do that" (6 became 4), and "wormholes, right in the middle of some nice tight grain" became "wormholes, right smack in some nice tight grain" (10 became 8). That's a lot of effort for four words, but when you consider the original was 16 words, that's a 25% cut.
  
  There are other little spots where I edited Terrence down, too. "No, it's not. It's my coffin, so I get to decide what's creepy. I want it to be beautiful." became "No, it's not. It's my coffin, so I decide what's creepy. I want it beautiful." -- 19 becomes 15, for a 21% cut. After making that cut, I decided I liked it better anyway. It's less "perfect", and thus more real: I used cutting to help me find a character's voice.
  
  Finding a balance for your character is important. If all I were worried about was cutting, I'd cut either "right" or "smack": "wormholes, right in some nice tight grain" or "wormholes, smack in some nice tight grain". It didn't sound right, though, so I left it.

I think that's where I'm going to end this entry. Please comment, add your suggestions, and, if you're interested in having your work cut, send no more than 1000 words to cutting.blog@gmail.com.