The Last Draft

by Sandra Scofield

4. What has changed for the character(s) from an earlier scene to a later one? Can you heighten that change? Identify the emotion of each scene and make it stronger? How can we tell whose scene it is? How does it relate to what that character wants? In the second scene, is the character closer to what he wants, or does it seem even further away? What does this do to how he feels? Can you make his greatest need energize this scene?

  Does this scene heighten your character’s strengths or flaws? (Either is good, if it is the right time, if it affects the road to the character’s transformation.)

  Now take two scenes that have at least two scenes in between. Read your captions of the four scenes. Is there any way that you could get from the first scene to the fourth without the interim scenes—or without one of them? In other words, is there enough tension to justify all of these scenes, or can elements be collapsed?

  List the settings for each of the six scenes. If some are the same, is that by default, or is it because it is exactly the right setting? Is there something about the settings that, taken as a group, help to develop the world of the novel?

  Consider whether any of your scenes could be eliminated as stand-alone scenes, and instead collapsed into what comes before or after the scene.

  Which scene presents your protagonist with the biggest threat of loss? If you have chosen six scenes and none of them have the dramatic energy of conflict and complication, you know this is something you will have to work for throughout the manuscript when you do scene sequences.

  For now, choose any of the six scenes and rewrite it. Make things worse for the character. Add a passage of deep interiority when the character has to admit failure, face a threat, or simply wonder how to go on from this place.

  6. Mark the scenes to indicate backstory. Evaluate for relevance, economy, trigger, and transition.

  Now go through each of your six scenes and, with a pen or marker, block out any backstory that arose in the scene. Describe the backstory in terms you have been introduced to so far.

  Does the reference to the past matter right now?

  What brings up the memory of the past?

  Is the backstory presented as narrative summary; is there a flashback passage; or does someone bring the memory up in dialogue? If the memory isn’t talked about, is someone thinking about it, or is it “stuck in” by the narration?

  How does the passage return to present time and action, leaving the backstory behind?

  Did you feel the backstory interrupts the scene or contributes to it?

  The purpose of reviewing the use of backstory is simply to think about it one more time. It may be fine. But if you are uneasy, consider whether it really belongs in the text in this place, if ever.

  You wouldn’t expect backstory to appear in the same way in all or even most of the six scenes. Could you make your introductions of the past more varied? At the same time, are you obviously “dipping” into the same well of experience, and if so, is that deliberate? Effective?

  Is the same thing coming up over and over? If so, how is it deepening and taking on more meaning with each new reference?

  7. Mark passages of summary and exposition, and evaluate.

  This may overlap with marking backstory in the previous step. In this case you are going to mark all the text that is not the action of the scene, including:

  Any summary of action, which might be present ongoing and therefore a part of the scene, compressed.

  Any summary of past action.

  Any presentation of information that adds to what could be known by reading only the action of the scene.

  Any history and description, which might also include commentary by the voice of the narration.

  The same questions apply: Do you need it? Do you need it now? Is it comfortably nested or do you need to adjust transitions?

  If you are sure you need the exposition, take the time to articulate why that would be. Is it explaining something happening in the scene that would be confusing otherwise? Is it referring to something in the past that makes the scene action easier to understand?

  How do you help the reader make the transition from summary or exposition back into the scene? Point to the specific sentence or phrase that accomplishes this.

  8. Mark passages of interiority, and evaluate.

  Here you mark those passages wherein a character is thinking, in contrast to where the character is speaking or acting.

  Is she thinking about something in the past?

  Is she thinking about what is happening now?

  Is she wondering what is coming next?

  Furthermore, do the character’s thoughts affect what she does next?

  Read through the scene again.

  Do you think that the interiority interrupts or slows down the scene? Does it contribute to tension (perhaps through the contrast of character thought and action) or meaning (as the character interprets the scene)? Is it interesting? (Here’s the hard question: Would a reader skim right over it?)

  Does the interiority take us into the emotions and intellect of the character so that we understand better the meaning of this scene and of other elements of the story? In other words, do we learn more about the character, and empathize with her deeply?

  How does the interiority affect the pace of the chapter? It probably slows it down. Is this a good thing? (Is this a good place to pause from the ongoing narrative and enter the consciousness of the character, feel with her, worry with her, etc.?)

  Does the interiority have within it some kind of conflict and tension? For example, is the character trying to make a decision with large consequences? Or is she reconsidering past events and seeing them in a new way, therefore changing what she will do now?

  You should be able to describe exactly what is going on in the thinking. If your character is torn between two needs or desires, between choices, between decisions, the interiority has a lot more impact than just thinking in general. This is especially true if both choices seem wrong but a decision has to be made.

  In the end the question is: Do you need the interiority? Does it add to the quality of the scene?

  Could any of the six scenes be trimmed?

  Should any of them have additional interiority?

  Is there a consistent theme running through the interiority, across the six scenes?

  EXERCISES

  Write out a scene like a play. Write down only dialogue and actions (stage directions). Compare that to your scene; as you add back each bit of interiority, judge its worthiness of inclusion.

  Now read through all the lines of interiority. Using them as a launch, write a passage that could appear at the end of the scene, with none of the interiority appearing within the scene. How do the two strategies compare? Did you discover anything new in the extended passage?

  Go through ten consecutive pages of your manuscript—you can select them randomly or for any reason you want—and double-underline all interiority.

  Now label in the margin the kind of interiority each instance is.

  Is it response, reflection, interrogation, or exposition?

  Is it concerned with the past, the present, or the future?

  Consider whether you have a set pattern, using mostly one kind of interiority, or if you vary your choices.

  Consider if you have exploited any opportunities to draw on backstory in passages of interiority.

  —

  I RECENTLY HAD a workshop group do this with their novel manuscripts for most of an hour. They were cooperative but not enthusiastic; they didn’t really see the point. At the end, though, when they evaluated their survey, they were surprised by how limited their use of various kinds of interior thinking was, and each expressed resolution to go through her entire novel to see if she could more effectively build and reveal character through more considered interiority.

  9. Choose tw
o key scenes and evaluate them using a scene template.

  You can do this with any scenes you want. I suggest that you choose one that you have good feelings about and another that you have a sneaky suspicion might need reinforcement.

  If you identify a weakness or a question about the scene, tag it or write a note on the blank manuscript page opposite it, so that you can come back to it later.

  Give your scene a caption that captures the essence of its event, then analyze it.

  Scene template

  Do I have a clear purpose for this scene, and does the scene satisfy it? (Think of functions like: confrontation, decision, catalyst, turning point, capitulation.)

  Is it dramatic? (This would mean conflict, rising action.)

  Are there passages of flashback, description, or interior response? Do they break up the flow of the scene? If so, can they be reduced or eliminated? Alternatively, do I need more emotional ballast in the scene, and does this mean I should add interiority? Would this be a good place to slow down the story and enter the consciousness of the character deeply?

  Are the beats of action clear? Do they build to a high point of drama?

  Have I “grounded” the scene in its setting? Does the scene convey a sense of being somewhere? How are the senses used: things seen, smelled, heard?

  Is the viewpoint clear? Is there a clear goal or intention for the viewpoint character?

  When you have analyzed sample scenes, you will have a good feeling for how you have handled scenes and also how the novel “holds together.” Remember that although a novel is long, there is no room for slack. Every page matters.

  See “Scene Template” in the Resources section for further analysis questions.

  Pause

  Look through the notes you have made so far. Do a little organizing.

  Take a break.

  Come back. Use your observations to evaluate your draft globally.

  In general:

  Does it fulfill your vision for the novel (even roughly)? Does the structure hold and support your story? Does the point of view work?

  Identify stumbling blocks. Write notes on the manuscript.

  Write your reflections on what you have learned about your draft so far, and what issues must be addressed in revision.

  Consider reviewing scene-writing skills in preparation for revision.

  Rework some of the exercises. Study your model novels.

  Two: The Plan

  I have a lot less to say in this section, except where I introduce a new concept like “lines of threads.” By now you should have a lot of notes and questions from the chapters you have read and the description you have written. Look back to earlier in this book to review ideas and exercises suggested there. Review your statement of aboutness.

  My goal here is to help you organize a plan for revising your novel. Thus, the concepts are extensions of what you have studied in the earlier sections.

  How do I revise?

  Write a capsule summary of the plot, emphasizing the story problem, the crisis point, and the resolution.

  Write a new summary of the novel.

  Write a brief summary of your protagonist’s fate and explain how it fulfills your vision for the novel.

  Develop a scheme of core scenes.

  Develop a scheme of lines of threads.

  Identify key scene sequences in each plot movement.

  Identify passages, scenes, and chapters from the first draft that will be used in the revision.

  Identify passages, scenes, and chapters that need new drafts.

  Decide whether you will amend your first draft or begin again with a new manuscript.

  Write a document that describes your love of your story.

  Summaries

  1. Write a capsule summary of the plot, emphasizing the story problem, the crisis point, and the resolution.

  You have chosen to write a novel that is predominantly a novel of story (character) or a novel of plot. Either way, both action and meaning are developed, but right now, consider which approach you are more committed to. Then, if you like, write the other summary as well. Keep these points in mind, though:

  1. A novel of story (character) is going to be about the protagonist’s journey in the context of the plot—but the character is the real subject. Depth, complexity, inner conflict, empathy—these are the qualities of the character that are developed by the plot. A paragraph summary is adequate.

  2. A novel of plot has a strong story line with twists and turns, questions and suspense, crisis and high tension, and a resolution that pulls everything together. Consider your protagonist’s journey as one of overcoming obstacles and arriving at a solution or achievement; of vanquishing an antagonist or circumstances that were a threat to the well-being of the protagonist and those he cared for. Three short paragraphs would follow the prescription.

  2. Write a new summary of the novel.

  Do not feel tied to your draft!

  Develop the summary in three “movements” (three long paragraphs):

  Opening and establishing story ground and questions.

  Developing and complicating plot.

  Intensifying and resolving plot.

  You will be using your summary from now on in other exercises. You are creating a blueprint for revision.

  Don’t skip this step. Don’t rush. This is deeper and more expansive than your warm-up exercise above.

  A reminder: Writing in summary frees you from the pressure of finding the “right” words, of shaping the scenes—all of the self-consciousness of getting things on the page. You are thinking about story, not style. This is for you, not a reader.

  You might start by telling the story in three sentences. I’m not sure why, but my students love this exercise. I think it clarifies story, for one thing; and it testifies that there actually is a story. Some of my students have then taken each sentence, one by one, and “peeled” it by expanding it into three new sentences. So now you have a summary of nine sentences. Then you can start making sequences between sentences. It’s sort of like greasing your skis; it gets you going.

  Sit down away from your manuscript and your notes, preferably after a few days of rest from the work. Then tell your story. Don’t worry about sticking to the draft. Don’t spend much time brooding over the ideas for changes that come up. Don’t worry about whether it’s long or short. Don’t worry about the “parts” right now. Just sit down and tell the story in a summary form. Imagine yourself speaking: Here is a story.

  Let yourself be caught up in the flow of narrative, and if something occurs that surprises you, don’t stop to consider whether it really belongs.

  After you have written such a free-flowing draft, you can study it, scratch your head, and consider whether to write it over again. You can think about what ideas for changes popped up. You can identify still-not-quite-decided points. You might want to look back over all the notes you have taken up to this point. Perhaps amend this new summary based on your compiled observations. What you want now is a guide to take you into revision. It can have some questions and some “maybes” in it. Your summary should capture enough that you feel that the story is coherent, dramatic, and structured. The summary is about what happens. It doesn’t include backstory, commentary, interiority. If you feel that the novel is very much about those latter things, I suggest that you write a page that summarizes the backstory and describes how it impinges on the story; write a separate page that talks about the meaning. Get it out of your system. Give yourself some distance by writing it out. Think it through away from the manuscript.

  You could do this in three to five pages. Or you could write fifteen to twenty pages. It depends on the length and complexity of the story and on your impulse. I like to do both—a short version, then a longer one. If your story has parallel plots of more or less
equal weight, I would treat them in two separate plot summaries. There will be overlap. Or you can write the summary in sections, alternating the same way that it appears in your draft. If it helps you, write summaries of the subplots, but we will be looking at those shortly.

  You should be able to look over your summary and identify places where the story clearly should be told in scenes. Other parts may be told in summary. Don’t automatically use the scheme of scenes you have already written; stay open to fresh ideas. Indicate these sections with colored pens, stars, checkmarks, or whatever works for you. Think: scene and summary. Underline a few lines that indicate big scenes. Why are they big (“obligatory”) scenes? What turns in them? What follows them? Is a clock ticking in any of them, i.e., is there something that must happen before it is too late?

  You may want to write the summary more than once. It’s not an exam, there aren’t time limits. You want to feel satisfied that you have captured the story. As you continue through the revision process, continue to make adjustments. If writing the summary gives you ideas for scenes in your draft, go back to the bound copy and make notes.

  Trust the process.

  —

  THE SECOND PART of this exercise will help you pin the story down more specifically. You are going to rewrite your summary in three sections.

  Start a new page for each section.

  1. Beginning. Start at the beginning and tell what happens far enough into the story that you have established who and where and what and how there is a story question that will pull the reader into the next movement of the novel. Think about the ground for the story, the circumstances that have come together to create a situation that creates a problem. Identify the catalyst, the event that launches the plot. What happens that pushes the protagonist into a chute she can’t get out of? (She may not know it yet.) This summary will probably cover several chapters, around a quarter of the book.