Yesterday I was working on draft one of the new novel. The scene revolved around a small dinner with
two couples---old friends whose lots in life took different paths (one couple
lives paycheck to paycheck in a rundown apartment; the other couple has money
and a nice house, the wife currently running for State Senator). In the scene, one of the four—KERRY—is
dealing with a recent bad experience. She
was intended to be aloof, quiet, not actively involved with the dinner
conversation. Except that, as I wrote
the scene, she became combative when engaged in the discussion, leading to her
storming out of the room when an offhand remark by her husband—TOMMY—strikes
her the wrong way. Tommy follows her to
the kitchen, where Kerry is rifling through the cupboards:
“What are you looking for?” Tommy said, irritation chafing
his voice.
Kerry didn’t turn. “The
whiskey you hid away.”
Tommy let out a long breath.
“Do you really need that?”
A harsh laugh escaped Kerry’s mouth, she whirled on her
husband. “What are you, my overseer?” She was yelling now. “I don’t need your permission if I want to
get drunk. This is my house. These are my cupboards. And it’s my whiskey.” She opened another cupboard, slammed it shut
(as hard as she could) without looking.
Tommy’s remark, which set this whole thing off, was directed
at the wife of the other couple, an old friend of his from grade school. He was offering financial assistance, if they
ever needed it. This enraged Kerry
because, a) she is the one who inherited the money that has allowed them to
live so well and b) she also knows that Tommy is having an affair with this
woman, Nikki.
As the conversation in the kitchen concludes, Kerry wants to
get across that Tommy, like the house and the cupboards, also belongs to
her.
My initial attempt at conveying this, which is not unusual
with my first drafts, has Kerry overtly stating this idea. Here’s the first try:
Kerry’s voice was a low, sharp
hiss, as she turned and marched on Tommy.
“And you are my husband. Not my
lover. Not my best friend. Not any of those foolish platitudes people
share online. My. Husband.”
She didn’t wait for a response,
stormed out of the kitchen.
I continued on, from here, to
finish the scene, but I wasn’t happy with it.
Which isn’t a problem. I know I’m
coming back to this, after I complete a draft, to revise and refine the text, and
having a character’s feelings be overt, in this first pass, allows me to
whittle away at the scene and push the “text” below the surface, to become
subtext.
But, when I finish writing for the
day, that doesn’t mean I stop thinking about the story—whether it’s what I will be writing next or what I’ve just written—and an hour or so later, I
re-opened the document and refined that part.
Here’s the second try:
Kerry’s face became all sharp
angles, her eyes glared through Tommy’s center.
“And you are my husband.”
She didn’t wait for a response,
stormed out of the kitchen.
Better, more concise. But still, Kerry’s feelings are sitting on
the surface in big, bright letters, like an irritating neon sign blinking
outside your hotel room window. At this
point, I figured I was done…but my mind kept rolling it over and over, working
to fix it. And finally, I came away with
this, the third (and final) try:
Kerry’s face became all sharp
angles, her eyes glared through Tommy’s center.
“Everything in this house is mine.”
She did not wait for a response,
stormed out of the kitchen.
It still gets the point across, but
it’s not as on the nose as it was. I
like it. Not perfect, but it’s pretty
good, for now. Maybe it will go through
some more refinement when I open it up for revisions late next year, and maybe
it won’t. Either way, I think I’m ready
to move on to the next scene and the next chapter.
-chris
