Back to my First Lady
I now find that my drafted Livia has reached the sprawling mass of 92,000 words and she's only just escaping from Perusia. This means that unless some drastic editing is done, by the time we reach 35BC where I propose to end this first part of her story, the book will be pushing towards epic proportions. And so I set about pruning; weeding out gorgeous little cameo characters that have been a joy to create but who can be sacrificed as they add nothing to the overall story. I look through, re-read, decide where I can combine that incident with that one, thus cutting out the need for that and so forth. I kid myself that it's all good fun, when in fact it's bloody hard work. It is indeed far more difficult to prune and edit than it is to write in the first place. Dialogue is my problem, I am fast discovering. I love writing it, and not to blow my own trumpet too much, I know I write it well. But I write too much of it! I am, first and foremost, a communicator; therefore, so are my characters. So, should I stick with more dialogue and cut down the narrative? Choices, choices. Choices and sacrifice. Which characters can go? Do we really need him, or her? Does she really need that conversation with her father in that scene etc. etc?
And then I consider my theatrical background: perhaps, as dialogue/characterisation is some of my strongest writing, I should turn the bloody thing into a play! No - it would make Richard III seem like a one act fringe offering! I want to finish this damned novel, and I will do it if it kills me. So - a major culling is on the cards. Superfluous characters will be crucified forthwith and any scene that does not advance the story or illustrate some part of Livia's character will be axed. I must be strict with myself and not wallow in self-indulgent babbling about this gorgeous world we all love. For god's sake - how many Romans do I need to bring back to life? And do I need to add to my problems by creating even more fictional ones? No! Let's leave fictional characters to a minimum. The odd slave who helps. Get rid of her childhood tutor; does her nurse really need to have that miscarriage? All superfluous. Have I learned nothing from that bloody TV series with its meandering sub-plots? This is not Catherine Cookson!
I will arm myself to the teeth for the drastic cuts, and my goal is now to get Liv to the Spartan forest fire in an absolute maximum of 200 pages, leaving an equal number for development of her story with that little blonde chap she has to marry. I will need all the help Apollo and his nine maidens can send me!
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