Pre-self-edit Warmup Exercise

I made the exercise its own page on the site.

Have fun. Happy procrastination 8)

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What I Cut Today

Cutting-room-floor addition of the day:

I don’t really understand why writers mix narrative point of view types. I guess they feel challenged to try something new, or emulate something else. Maybe they even have a good reason why this must be done, maybe something to do with tension or suspense building, or…something. Like I said, I don’t really understand it. I feel very strongly that writers mucking about with narrative POV are taking an unnecessary risk with their livelihood and their editor’s by association. Might as well whip the reader right across the face with the puppet strings, because poor narrative POV management jolts readers straight off the page.

I will try to act like an adult, however, and describe the combination types, though I still by no means recommend them. And of course I will continue to hope and pray that these writers’ authors will take them out back, Moonstruck them and snap them the heck out of it.

 

Sometimes, I get a little carried away, and this should stand as evidence of ‘editor, edit thyself.’  Anyway, coming up next is a pre-self-edit exercise that hit the cutting-room floor quite a while ago. It still has relevance, but it’s a bit too touchy-feely for the guide.

Tomorrow, probably.

Unforgotten, Unforgiven, Unhealed

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving
hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time
out of mind.
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the
lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not
resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, — but the best is
lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the
laughter, the love, —
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses.
Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know.
But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all
the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the
grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the
kind.
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the
brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not
resigned.

“Dirge Without Music”
Edna St. Vincent Millay

Because Some Things Bear Repeating

Editor Is Disappoint