I’m reading Essays One by Lydia Davis. Some of the essays include her thinking about her own drafting, which I found fascinating. My thinking about my revision isn’t as interesting as hers, but here it is. Footnoting these sorts of changes is a great exercise.
The number after the title is a word count.
You think you know someone. 139[1]
My snooty boss asked me to help her move. Now, we’ve worked together a long time and we’ve been social, but she lives in a big house and she has money. She’s downsizing and can pay for this sort of thing. But I go. Job security, you know. I did not know but for room after room she has butterflies, all the colors, pinned and displayed in flat glass cases. A hundred of them at least. Not something I wanted to trust to movers, she said. And the big stuff, beds, tables, books was gone. We filled each others cars, my teammates and I, with her butterfly collection. It took time, but the lifting was light. And it was me; after we placed the last case in her new place, I said, Karaoke? and she took us all dancing.
You think you know someone. 117
My snooty boss asked me to help her move. Now,[2] we’ve been social, but she has money. She can pay for this sort of thing. But I go. Job security, you know.[3] For room after room she has butterflies, all the colors, pinned and displayed in flat glass cases.[4] A hundred of them at least.[5] “Not something I wanted to trust to movers,” she said. The big stuff, beds and desks, was gone.[6] We filled each other’s cars, my teammates and I,[7] with her butterfly collection.[8] It took time, but the lifting was light. And it was me; after we set the last case in her new condo, I said, Karaoke? and she took us all dancing.[9]
You Think You Know Someone[10]
My snooty boss asked me to help her move. Now, we chat occasionally, but she has money. She can afford professionals.[11] But I went. Job security, you know. The fridge and mattress were gone. She said, “These are not things I trust to movers.”[12] She had butterflies, every color, pinned and displayed in flat glass cases, ninety-three of them.[13] My teammates and I filled each other’s cars with her butterfly collection. It took time, but the lifting was light. I confess[14] after we set the last case in her new condo, I said, “Karaoke?” and she took us all dancing.[15]
[1] This is the first draft, written after a throw of a set of Story Cubes. I used three of the nine cubes. One of my favorite places to try and publish is 100WordStory, so my first revision goal is condensing. Cutting is usually a good revision technique. Footnoting additions (also a way to revise) could be interesting, but isn’t my project this time.
[2] I cut “we’ve worked together a long time and,” “lives in a big house and she,” and “’s downsizing and” because they are implied or common/cliched first-draft language. Leaving “She can pay for this sort of thing” characterizes as the narrator doubles-down.
[3] “But I go,” is a short sentence after longer ones. “Go” and “know” rhyme too much. I may change them yet. “Job security, you know” provides a motivation most people can probably relate to. It’s also colloquial, characterizes, and addresses the reader directly. The direct address is probably a small surprise which is likely to keep readers reading. “I did not know” is a rhyme too far and implied by the story itself.
[4] The butterflies are intended as another surprise. I’m tempted to add more details like sizes and Latin names, in cursive handwriting on cards next to each insect.
[5] A shorter fragment after a longer sentence adds variety, but do I do it too much?
[6] I left this sentence for this draft, but it could be cut and traded for more details about the collection.
[7] Here is an action that shows community, at least a little, in contrast with the isolation and transactional relationships early in the story.
[8] This phrase is also a candidate for cutting. Maybe. It provides a nice summary, but is that needed in something this short? It does clarify what is filling the cars.
[9] “And it was me” implies a confession, which could be surprising, and the question of what will be confessed might maintain reader engagement. “Placed” becomes “set” and “place” becomes “condo” because the rhymes were too heavy. What is being confessed is a call for karaoke (probably anticlimactic, but not too serious), implying a desire for continuing unity with the team and the boss, though that is is “confessed” adds a layer of complicated feelings about it. The sentence also continues to suggest a change in how the narrator thinks of the boss, probably no longer “snooty.” The final phrase confirms the new understanding of the boss and may contain another surprise.
Although the draft has gone from 139 to 117 words, more needs to be cut. “Bosses” are presented very favorably. Could “boss” become “supervisor” or “manager” or “union rep”? “Subordinates”? Or if the narrator explicitly sees the call for help to move as a cry for companionship?
[10] The title is both a cliche and gives gives too much away. It tells the story or sums it up too completely.
[11] “Afford professionals” seems abstract but less abstract than “pay for this sort of thing.” It’s also fewer words.
[12] Moving sentences to earlier in the story increases clarity. It makes trimming more words possible.
[13] A shorter fragment after a longer sentence adds variety but I do it too much? I’ll combine it with the sentence before.
[14] Making the confession hidden in “And it was me” explicit allows for an implied question. What the narrator confesses becomes more interesting at the same time?
[15] I made other cuts to reach the 100-word formal constraint. Now I’ll let it sit for a while, then reread, hoping it feels finished and good. The class issues and title still bother me.
Writing Fiction 