Top “Truth” Number Four: The Manuscript Has to Be Perfect
I can’t tell you how many times I have heard an agent/published writer/editor say that manuscripts shouldn’t be sent until they are perfect. I’ve been to a lot of conference and talked to a lot of writing professionals, which means I’ve heard this “truth” a lot.
And then I see writers frowning in confusion, wondering what the heck perfect means. No typos? No unclear sentences? No scenes that are slightly undermotivated? No characters who are just a teensy bit stereotypical or cardboard?
Short answer: all of the above. Long answer: none of the above.
Here’s the thing about perfect: it. does. not. exist. Let’s pause a moment to mourn the passing of our hopes and dreams for perfection… … …
Okay. Now let’s talk reality. You’ve written a book. Sweated over, it cried over it, screamed at it, whispered sweet nothings into your keyboard. Now it’s done (see Top “Truth” Number Three). Or is it? [NOTE: This is a common questions heard in a gathering of three or more new writers: How the heck can you tell if it is done?]
Here are my criteria:
1. Does the story begin well? (strong hook to pull the reader in)
2. Does it end well? (reader can close the book with a sigh– or cathartic sob — of satisfaction)
3. Is the middle interesting and relevant? (twists and revelations that the average reader doesn’t see coming)
Easy, right? No? Then you may be relieved to hear I don’t rely on just my own judgment for this evaluation. I’m too close to the book when I finish it. Instead, I have several trusted, insightful, and brutally honest people (my inner circle) read the book. They tell me things I don’t want to hear (like, you have too many adjectives, too much “she felt” or “she heard”, and way too many weak “to be” verbs).
Wait, you may be saying, that has nothing to do with the story hook, the action, the characters, or the twists and revelations. True. Lazy writing can mute a strong story, but it has to get truly sloppy to hide the story completely. My inner circle tells me those things, too (she is not acting directly, everyone else is rescuing her). I want to hear those things, no matter how painful, because they relate to story, not technique.
A roomful of writers could fight to the death over sentence structure, word choice and adjective insertion, and then, if there were two left bloody but standing, they’d still disagree. That stuff comes under technique, style, voice, etc. It is important, but only in service to the story.
Readers (including most agents and editors of commercial, not literary, fiction) will forgive a little clumsy writing in pursuit of a good story (try reading Rowling’s Harry Potter series, aloud, in a car, on a trip from Maine to Florida — the story is brilliant and yet some of the writing gets clumsy and excessive at times). Sometimes they forgive even more than a little clumsy writing. Don’t even get me started on Dan Brown. Please. My inner circle would have his sentences hanged, drawn and quartered.
If the story is strong, the writing techniques can be smoothed out, fixed, improved, etc. If the story isn’t strong? Figure out how to make it strong and fix it before you bother to query. That’s the “perfect” that agents are talking about. The “perfect” story that makes them read on past a few imperfections in writing technique.
Sound easy? It isn’t. I am still aiming for the patience and skill to revise and rework until I can hand my inner circle a book none of them can put down until the last word. Scenes? Yes. Chapters? Yes. But the whole book? Not yet.
But I’m not giving up on that goal. That’s my personal definition of “perfect.”
Next up — Top “Truth” Number Five: Manuscript Format Matters
Top “Truth” Number One
Top “Truth” Number Two
Top “Truth” Number Three
