Where does the flab from your manuscript come from, bogging down your spry pace and confounding the clear image you hold in your head? Much of the blame goes straight to ‘weak words.’

If you have never encountered weak words as a formal literary term before, congratulations. I suffered a fortnight in my senior English class learning to obliterate and excise these unwanted additions from my vocabulary the same way processed foods end up ousted from your cabinets the day you decide to eat healthy.

Though essential to language and common in our everyday conversations, weak words tend to make an unpleasant substitution for stronger, concrete images or statements. Chances are you’ve already encountered many of these without thinking about them. Several writing programs tally up these weak words to bring them to your attention, and though they vary in exact scope, they tend to include:

• Is, am, are, was, were
• Become, became
• Do, does, did
• “To Be”: Be, being, been
• Has, had (IE: I was at the meeting with Katherine. Katherine met with me.)
• Seem, seems, seeming
• A general list
• Adverbs: quite, rather, a bit, very, similar
• Weasel words: some, most, many, a lot, few, a little
• Ly words

The new year is a popular time for resolutions, drafting lists of milestones or events we wish to accomplish in the coming twelve months. Management trainers, physical trainers, and life coaches all agree success is much higher when choosing a good goal with several key parts, most notably a defined, quantifiable desire coupled to an achievable deadline and a possible plan of action.

It isn’t enough to say “I want to write a book” or “I want a finished manuscript,” any more than declaring you want to lose weight works for shedding the pounds. Liken a finished first draft to someone with a bit of extra weight and less tone then he might like. How are you, as the personal trainer/editor, going to bring them down to the size and image you both want? There is no magic bullet, and everyone reacts differently to this question, but there are a few variables which you can control and manage.

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Our first step in the process was determining the summary of the book, called “Hunter’s Moon” as a working title likely to change. A summary acts as a one or two-sentence statement of what the novel is about. Unlike a theme, it directly addresses several key issues including who the main character is, the inciting incident or major change that occurs to her, the primary conflict, and any substantial issues along the way.

The example we developed as an initial start: On the run from her guardian, The Huntress must find the means to end a millennia-old conflict between the hunters and vampires before the mysterious Novus Ordo catches up with her and ends her life.

Certainly it could use some work, but the nutshell for an agent pitch defines the novel’s primary attributes. For purposes of a master outline for a fresh manuscript, the mission statement gives structure and guidance for everything else to follow.

Note the significant high points in there: the author declares a little bit about the main character and sets out the tone immediately. The Huntress is caught in the eye of conflict she cannot escape or turn away from. Readers know the stakes from the get-go and something about the world out of that sentence. Here is a place perilous where supernatural monsters struggle against imbued hunters, and another deadly spectre is rising over the horizon.

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At yesterday’s write-in session at Caribou Coffee, one of the NaNoWriMo and Journey members felt she was hitting a brick wall due to severe doubts about her plot. From the TGIO Party to discussions with other aspiring authors and blog posts from lauded, published writers, a loathing for our completed work seems to be a common theme expressed about the time we see our first draft.

Let me preface all this with the confession I have barely examined my first draft of my 2010 book out of a combination of issues: procrastination, fear of how bad it is, disappointment, and nervousness for the amount of work ahead of me. This post literally represents the panacea I offer to others, but I need to down my own writing medicine.

Names have been changed to protect the innocent. “Emma” hit a very common snag: doubt in her own work. This is her first year writing and she felt her plot was lethally wounded, the pacing wrong, and no hope of any agent or publisher ever showing an interest. To discover whether her manuscript really was hopeless as she said, we walked through a verbal outline. I dutifully took notes while she explained her story to someone who never read any portion of it except the excerpt blurb posted to her NaNoWriMo profile.

I will explain some of the key steps in subsequent posts (like coming up with a summary statement and the rest), but the primary focus for this post is the strategy for talking it out.

Emma took me step by step through the major events of her story. I told her not to use her manuscript to guide her because the highwater points in the narrative ought to stand out clearer to a writer than other sections in between. We started from the very beginning where things immediately change for her main character, The Huntress. Emma took me through the first act point by point while I recorded her answers on my laptop to free her up just to explain.

While she described her work, I asked her several key questions intended to whittle away some of the excess clouding the main plot. Some samples include “How did this affect the main character” or “What did she do” and “How did/What was her response?” Focused inquiries keep the author trained on the primary avenue and lead up to what the next point may be. Side tracking through subplots falls away once the author speaking realizes the romantic affair with a supporting character isn’t at the core of her tale, or that one jaunt off into a dangerous place to obtain an important object (which takes up several chapters, possibly) is a diversion for another purpose. We compressed together some of the less major points under a key heading to keep track of them.

The most frequent question was: What happened next?

Don’t see the above as a prompt to hurry along but instead to prevent getting too bogged down. The middle of a novel is notorious for longer sequences of events which can confound or distract the writer from seeing where she is going. Emma and I honed in on what all the various turns and twists headed for, identifying the key struggle around her main characters on the run, the antagonist interfering with their efforts to get somewhere, and noble sacrifice.

What really brought out the polish on the story was hearing Emma herself talk about things. She did a degree of self-editing to discard what she thought were subplots or tangents. I prompted her for more information when something wasn’t clear or I wanted to know the final outcome. In hearing herself aloud, she streamlined her approach and revised matters. The plot points she made created a standard three-act story formula and hit upon the key places — inciting incidents, halfway points, crisis, climax, and such.

She had an upward trajectory, a classical sacrifice in there, and the quiet gasp before a violent and unexpected turn in the climax.

Hardly a bad book at all, is it, Emma?

A manuscript is lying on the hopper with care, printed and bound in hopes a publisher will soon be there… at least that is how the writing and publishing process begins in the movies. As any actual or aspiring author can tell you, however, the reality is much uglier, dirtier, and infinitely more exhausting.

While I may be reluctant to talk about what I have written, discussing the craft of writing is another matter altogether. Understanding of the finer nuts and bolts of a writing or revision technique is essential for a writer taking their first draft on the road to a finished product. Dozens of books cover the process of writing in elegaic, agonizing details. Seminars and workshops promise to deliver that ugly, misshapen infant manuscript into a bolder toddler able to stand on its own two feet through the experiences and hardships shared in common with nearly all aspiring authors. It is a truism no single technique will work for every author, but collectively throwing in our experiences gives a greater pool to draw from and find the means to really put your work through a proverbial rock tumbler for a jewel in the end.

Before anyone can start the revision process, they need to consider some of the basic tools. For revising a first draft, the essentials to me are: a timeline, a solid outline, lots of post-it notes [a spreadsheet, note file, their equivalent in your favoured format], lots of patience, and the right balance of self-deprecation and self-confidence.

A manuscript from the get-go is not perfect, riddled with logical errors, continuity issues, gaping holes, and horrible pacing. The need for patience is essential to improve upon that starting point. On the other hand, it is a work full of promise and brilliant ideas, an excellent accomplishment, and a worthwhile pursuit. Psychological damage isn’t a required step of the revision process. It is important to accept you can improve your first draft without taking the process as a commentary on your abilities as an author. To quote a friend, “My adoration with how clever and pretty and in love I am with it has worn off. I’m not in the honeymoon phase any more. I’m in the This Relationship Takes a Lot of Damn Work and I Want to Do it Right.”

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Right about this time of year, two questions tend to come up with startling frequency whenever anyone discovers I am a writer — or more specifically, actually writing a novel. The likelihood they will cross someone’s lips dramatically increases in conjunction with the magic words “end” or “finished my first draft.”

• What is your story about?
• Can I read it?

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The last week suffered for a lack of blog posts due to being horrendously under the weather thanks to a pernicious cold. While I made my acquaintance with Master Vick N. Quil and Dame Robutussin, doctor, on a daily basis, I woefully permitted all my writing to fall into a state of awful neglect. Considering not more than two consecutive days passed throughout all the last month when I did not putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, more aptly), the break felt surreal. However, on the complaint of trying to breathe, I felt very little guilt about my pause.

• The TGIO Party was  a smashing success for my first foray out from my sickbed. It heartened me immensely to catch up with Team Awesome and other participants in NaNoWriMo’s region whom I usually know only through the forums or the escalating bar on their word count graph. How can any party which features chocolate Legomen, Beth’s tremendously delicious guacamole dip featuring pomegranate seeds, or lots of stuffed animals be bad?
• I was especially grateful to win the Infinite Monkeys short story compilation from the Journey writing group. However, first time winner La Peregrina (who succeeded in reaching 50,000 words despite a family visit back east for Thanksgiving and a full-time job) won the Book in a Month guide and worried she might not make use of the system. She graciously traded me for the novel, and we both came away with something wonderfully rewarding. I hope to skim through the worksheets, make a few photocopies, and distribute them at upcoming write-ins for December and NaNoFiMo.
• Now moving on to the new year and December, I hope to see more involvement in the Journey, the year-round writing group for  the western suburban NaNo group. One of my biggest problems in the past few years is keeping momentum — simply because I am not accountable to someone or a deadline. By joining up, I hope to join the madness, actually get through revising, and add a few more publication credits to my name.
• Nothing motivates me like a plot bunny. Nothing.
• Beth, La Peregrina, and I have made a pact to create said plot bunnies in various guises over an afternoon at some point in December. I may become something of an addict for their silliness.