Re-Visioning the Revision Process: Cross the Threshold with Hope

I have a theory about what goes through many of my client’s heads as we start work on their books: writing is hard, but revision is torture. Perhaps my theory rests on imaginative fancy. Or perhaps I recognize a deer-in-the-headlights look when I explain that the client will need to pull the manuscript apart and put it back together again. Either way, I am convinced that demotivating thoughts float around in their minds with a few unsaid choice words my direction. I understand the choice words. In the end, though, I pray they will all see the hard work of re-visioning as a hopeful journey rather than torture.

Few writers go from raw material to polished manuscript in one or even two steps. The number that can do that grows slimmer the longer the manuscript. A short blog post? Maybe. A book? Never.

As exhilarating or exhausting as the drafting process might be, it’s only the exposition to the writing journey, act 1 of a three-act structure. Drafting is merely a call to an adventure, of discovering that some irrevocable event or question requires an answer, and setting out to discover what that answer may be. The editing process—the re-visioning act 2—is where we actually accomplish the quest, discover our heroic mettle, and set the world aright.

What could be more hopeful than that?

Drafting: A Call to Adventure

Knowledge, especially wisdom, comes in leaps and floods and not by will power, a certain amount of time, or a set number of steps. I often wish for you and me both that knowledge came another way—a way better under our control. But if gaining understanding were easy or predictable, I doubt many would seek to attain it.

Christopher Vogler, in The Writer’s Journey, draws from Carl Jung’s psychology and Joseph Campbell’s mythic studies to examine the hero’s journey in story and the writer’s journey in creating story. I want to take his idea and push it a bit further to include any writer creating meaning, whether through story or not. While some of the process details may differ for narrative versus expository writing, every writer embarks on a quest for knowledge to achieve a goal. Every writer is a hero in the making.

Some forms of writing may merely transcribe the already-known from mind to page, but most writers I work with are pushing to the fringes, the frontier of understanding; they write to explore the almost-known. We can easily understand this principle for storytelling: no one knows the made-up story until the author makes it up. But the principle holds true for expository writing as well. Each sentence connects known thoughts and words in new ways and clears a path through the fog. I’ve got my machete out right now trying to blaze a trail through the misty jungle so I can lead you through it. And I’m starting to sweat.

The Call to Adventure occurs because somewhere in your ordinary world, you discover that all is not as it should be. Something is missing or needs putting right. Yes, the call may come in the form of a writing assignment or a required content push for work. But even then, when the question that needs an answer arises from someone else rather than you, every writer-hero has a unique trait that turns that assignment into an adventure only they can complete. This quest for this answer needs a quality or knowledge only you have. Your unique trait will show up while you write the draft, but we usually fail to see exactly which quality it is or how it helps until act 2, Revision.

You will encounter opposition and discomfort while you draft. You may embrace the call only with reluctance. But keep remembering your sense that something needs putting right, some goal needs attaining. It will guide you when you want to quit the quest.

Because here is what I want you to hear most of all about drafting: At this stage, every hero is expected to fail. The stakes are higher than you imagined. Internal and external obstacles block your path. You question the journey. If discouragement with what you have written is where you find yourself right now, congratulations. You are the hero of a story. And you have reached the end of act 1. You are right where you are meant to be.

Revision: Crossing the Threshold

When we reach the end of drafting, we arrive at a gateway rather than a finish line. The gateway promises all sorts of challenges that will bring you to the end of yourself and force change. You will have to let go of some words, some ideas, some aspirations. You will also gain a clearer picture of the grander story and your role within it. At this juncture, as with any hero—Celie in The Color Purple, Amir in The Kite Runner, Moses at the burning bush—you must make a choice: if you cross the threshold, there is no going back. Vogler writes, “Crossing the … Threshold is an act of the will in which the hero commits wholeheartedly to the adventure.”[1]

Enter: the mentor. Obi-wan Kenobi.[2] Gandalf.[3] Shug Avery.[4] Rahim Kahn.[5] Your editor. God.

Mentors teach, aid, and give gifts so that heroes may reach their highest aspirations. Usually they have endured similar trials before or have a special power or insight. Act 2 will present many treacherous ways to lose the goal (such as failing to prepare, getting lost along the way, choosing the wrong treasure, or picking the wrong battle). Heroes need a wise guide.

Do you ever wonder in story why the mentor never just takes over? If Obi-wan has enough of the force to help Luke, why not destroy Darth Vader himself? If Gandalf can summon eagles to rescue Bilbo and the dwarves from the orcs, why couldn’t he have also helped them shorten their long, dangerous voyage? And why doesn’t God step in and save me from making mistakes? I like the answer Callie Johnson gave when I mentioned my article concept to her: “Re-visioning is a beauty-finding process, a way of reimagining the way things are. And reimagining something to make it more beautiful, whether it’s a book or a painting or a society—that’s the work of a hero.”

Yes, that’s the work of a hero, not a mentor. Mentors have their own stories where they are the heroes. This story is yours to live and tell and write. Do you remember me mentioning that unique trait that pops up when you’re drafting, the special quality or knowledge that belongs only to you? This adventure requires that trait. Your mentor doesn’t have it; you do. Perhaps it’s your voice or your experience. Perhaps it’s your unique way of seeing or your measure of faith. Act 2 is where you discover its benefit and how to use it.

Vogler points out a dilemma that makes working as a mentor—or an editor—an extra challenge: “Heroes typically don’t just accept the advice and gifts of their Mentors and then charge into the adventure.”[6] How I often wish they did. But then the story would be the mentor’s and not theirs. Mentors give heroes a map, point out traps and temptations, and imbue courage. Your job is to accept the challenge and give it everything you have.

I realize accepting the challenge of revision feels like standing at the precipice of a cavernous lion’s mouth, realizing that the journey will put you through an ordeal in the inmost cave, and maybe eat you alive.

This moment standing at the precipice is when you remember the thing that needed putting right, that goal that was worth the stakes. You might not know it, but I find writing excruciating. Excruciating but good. This month, we chose to publish about revision. And I had much that got in the way of the writing. I experienced reluctance and doubt that I should be the hero-writer even though I have re-visioned writing every day of my career. You could hardly have described my first draft beyond “scattered notes.” I wanted to quit. But then I remembered you, my writers and artists and society-changers, and the slog you endure for the sake of others. And I remembered I wanted to give you hope. I have been to the end of this quest and back again before. And it is good. So I crossed a foot into the lion’s mouth and dared him to spit me out.

As you approach revision, remember what you set out to do. Your understanding of your goal may have changed, and that transformation is okay—actually, that deeper understanding is the first step of re-visioning. Then consider what external and internal forces will push you forward. Some external force—announcing our work to others, a lack of options or time, or a swift kick in the accountability pants—usually helps force us into action.

“Internal events might trigger a Threshold Crossing as well,” Vogler says. “Heroes come to decision points where their very souls are at stake, where they must decide ‘Do I go on living my life as I always have, or will I risk everything in the effort to grow and change?’”[7] Is your idea, your art, your society worth the risk to make it better? If not, walk away.

If yes, here’s the way forward: learn to recognize the right path of stepping stones.

Re-Vision Stepping Stones—Nonfiction

When the hero crosses the threshold, many winding trails and treacherous pits stand between the current moment and achieving the quest. As with any good adventure story, when the hero and sidekick arrive at this turning point, they must empty their pockets and survey what tools and trinkets they have at their joint disposal.

After you’ve given your manuscript time to breathe, read your latest draft and play the “What do we have here and what doesn’t belong?” game. Look for patterns of understanding that pull most of the pieces together and scan for places where you still have holes. Courageously allow your goal, angle, or thesis to shift if need be. Learn to let go of the way things are now or what you planned for them to be. The final draft will look different from the original idea. It’s okay. While you couldn’t see that far down the road when you started the journey, you did know to head in the right direction.

Re-visioning a manuscript takes many passes through, each time with a specific task. The hero of nonfiction needs to think of moving in concentric circles to find the treasure at the heart of the book, moving from big picture to tiny detail:

1. Goal and angle. Who are you trying to reach? What question are you answering? So what? Why does it matter? Does your manuscript reflect your current answers to those questions? If not, do some soul searching and make it happen.

2. Logic and flow of ideas. Now that you have laid a draft’s worth of ideas on the table, sort them for belonging and better flow. Can you re-outline them? Are they balanced? Do you need to check or support any facts? Does each chapter have coherence and its own sub-thesis? Let a trusted mentor help you make sure nothing is missing.

3. Images and illustrations. What stories are worn out or dried up? Do you give the reader any breaks from abstract thought with concrete illustration? Warm up a potentially hostile audience by adding emotional relevance. Images are like a magic translator tool that will help you speak many languages.

4. Style and varied syntax. Every good quest has a booby-trapped room where the hero has to maneuver across the floor in the right pattern. Listen to the music of your words. Do they set the right rhythm? Check your syntax for variety and for engaging reading.

5. Word choices to heighten images. No need to let your adventure fail because you spoke the secret password to the wrong character. Check for gender bias, offensive terms, homonyms and homophones, repetitive wording, and jargon. Strengthen verbs and nouns to heighten metaphoric meaning.

6. Remaining grammatical issues and punctuation. Don’t be the hero that fails the last test. Go back and check again that you have every word in order.

Re-Vision Stepping Stones—Fiction and Narrative

Storytellers need to take a more tangled path through re-visioning. For narrative, the individual steps are much more interdependent, and you may have to start on one, jump to another, and then come back again before moving on. Go through the entire manuscript and make notes on at least steps 1–5 before you start revising. The hero of fiction needs to think in threads, watch for dropped stitches, and work to keep the knitted yarn from unraveling.

1. Overall story goals, themes, and motifs. You likely had many components of your story in mind before you started. Let go of your expectations and read for what is actually there in the story you created. What needs to be heightened, clarified, adjusted, or pulled through more of the story?

2. Characterization. Check character motivation. Does your main character have both internal and external goals? Have you let them make decisions true to their nature? Where does your desired plot dictate an unforced action? Did you remember to round out other characters besides the protagonist? Which characters could be dropped without losing a stitch?

3. Plot. Does your story begin with inciting action? Smooth out backstory dumps and unnecessary explanation. Do your characters encounter enough obstacles? Do they experience change? Can the reader assess the positive or negative aspects of the story outcome? Do you need to add a sub-plot or take one out? Do you leave any threads untied? Do plot points come at the reader without any warning? Go back and work on timing and balance the action. Make sure you create internal as well as external change. Fine-tune your foreshadowing and remove any unprecipitated events. Show more than you tell.

4. Point of view. Look macro and micro for point of view problems. Are the right people or person telling the story? Do you break point of view in your descriptions, narration, and character thoughts? Where can sliding out of or into a narrower point of view bring more focus to the story?

5. Scene arcs and story arcs. Where does the tension wane? What scene could you lose and never notice? Do your chapter endings pull readers to the next page?

6. Active setting. Does your setting matter to the story, or could you transplant your story anywhere and never notice? Go back and make sure the setting weaves integrally into every scene.

7. Dialogue. You probably touched dialogue as you considered characterization. Now go back and make sure each character has a distinct voice. Tighten conversations. Remove the information dumps you put in a character’s mouth. Make sure every word that’s said moves the story forward.

8. Style and varied syntax. The narrator gets no free lunch. Is the main voice objective or slanted as a character? Do you maintain that voice throughout? Read your story aloud. Where do you stumble? Is your prose engaging? Vary your sentence starts.

9. Word choices. Check again for vocabulary appropriate to each character or narrator. Check for unintended offense and places to heighten imagery or create mood or subtext through word choice.

10. Grammar and punctuation. Check that character speech regularly breaks with perfect grammar while every other sentence follows good stylistic rules. Check and check again for missing quotation marks or dialogue placed in a paragraph with the wrong character.

Polishing and Publishing: The Road Back

Act 3. You have traversed to the underworld to gain the magic plant that will give your friend new life. You accomplished the quest. But you still must travel the road back.

You will know when you have turned toward home. You will be rehearsing with Samwise Gamgee what you have learned. You will be making tiny tweaks here and there just to shine the scuff marks. You will be worn out but satisfied.

In comparison, you will find this road easy. But beware letting down your guard, beware setting the magic plant down beside the pond you want to swim in. Some snake may come and snatch it up, and what then will you have to show for all your trouble? Send your manuscript out. Post it. Publish. Be sure you have come to the end of your journey, but then don’t miss the getting home.

Re-visioning is hard, but it’s also a great adventure. I hope, as you get lost and muddy all along the way, that you can reach into your pocket and find you’ve had the map or missing puzzle piece all along, and you’re even wearing the ruby slippers that will take you home. But maybe you’ll find a new way to end the story, one even better. I hope that for you, too.

And I hope when you arrive home, you will start again on a new journey, willing to learn and be changed. Because grueling adventures make for beautiful endings.

[1] Christopher Vogler, The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, 2nd ed. (Studio City, CA: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998), 127.

[2] George Lucas’s Star Wars.

[3] J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit.

[4] Alice Walker’s The Color Purple.

[5] Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner.

[6] Vogler, 128.

[7] Vogler, 128.