One Manuscript. Three Days.
I had planned to give myself six months to work through the line edit of a book I've been working on for years.
Instead, I had three days to clear the graffiti scrawled all over my manuscript.
Here's what happened.
I received a request for the full manuscript from a literary agent I'd previously considered untouchable.
The fact that she asked to see my full manuscript was an opportunity I couldn't say no to.
Except the manuscript wasn't ready.
There was so much more I still wanted to do.
So I cleared my calendar and buckled down.
Fortunately, the request came on a Thursday, which meant I could spend most of Saturday and Sunday on it. I moved my Monday schedule around, reallocating my work through the rest of the week, so I could send the manuscript Tuesday morning.
First, I combed through all the notes I'd made about everything I wanted to address, working through the changes chapter by chapter.
Anything I couldn't resolve – or that wasn't essential – I moved to a Kill Your Darlings file.
I could always revisit those bits later if I wanted to. Although I've found that once I've detached myself from something by moving it off the manuscript, I rarely end up putting it back in.
Next, I pulled out my editing checklists and manuscript reminders. All the things I wanted to make sure the book was doing.
Did every scene have a goal and an obstacle? Were my character arcs adding up? Was the story delivering on the vision I'd had for it?
Plus all those little reminders about craft I'd collected over the years. (Location matters more than you think!)
Then I read through the manuscript three times, checking for flow and fine-tuning it word by word, line by line.
By the time I was finished, I'd cut 7,000 words.
Seven thousand!
And you know what?
I doubt they'll be missed. Perhaps I’ll repurpose two or three bits into another novel someday. The rest? Gone.
And just like that, I was done.
There's a principle called Parkinson's Law, which says that work expands to fill the time you give it.
I'd given myself six months.
Then suddenly I had three days.
And I still got it done.
I stopped entertaining every idea.
I quit agonizing over every possibility.
And instead of trying to make room for everything the book could be, I focused on what it needed to have.
When you only have three days, you get clear. And you get ruthless.
You remove what's not working. You refine what stays. You tighten the story to its most essential parts.
Now, I'm not suggesting every manuscript can – or should – be revised in a weekend. I'd already spent years developing this story. Those three days were the culmination of a whole lot of work.
But it did show me how much time we waste circling decisions, second-guessing ourselves, and putting off work because we imagine it needs more time than we have.
Sometimes, the most useful thing we can do is give ourselves a deadline that forces us to decide what matters and what doesn't.
Speaking of which, I've got something coming next week for those of you working on a book – or sitting on an idea for one – that could use a little clarity and direction.
Stay tuned.
Cat xo