The craft of a writer can be divided into three irregular amorphous tasks which mix into each other:
- Think of something to write that someone would enjoy reading.
- Write the story you thought of, as well as you are capable.
- Fix your hideous errors and make the story into what you had hoped to write.
Of course, I’m leaving out all the steps in learning how to become a writer, how you market the work, establish a brand, and the most important — how to die wealthy — but those three tasks are how you grind out the stuff.
It’s time to fix a story. Let’s look at this introductory chunk of a short story I wrote recently:
You never can tell what you’re going to find in a New York bar. Greeley’s looked like a comfortable place to sit on a stool and sip a cold one, so I pushed the door open and looked inside. The bar itself was a solid, polished slab of mahogany, and the stools were sturdy and well-upholstered.
I sat down and sighed. As a salesman for a sundries distributor, I travel endlessly around the Boroughs and a new watering hole is a good thing for a young man’s thirst. I was thirsty as a desert nomad far from his oasis and exhausted from the heat of the pavement.
The barkeep pointed at the tap, I nodded, and soon he slid a mug of ale to my waiting hand. I took a sip and simultaneously heard a rude noise.
“Jeez and crackers, another drummer!”
I looked over to my right, and then further down. A tiny, pig-faced man stood there, glaring at my sample case, next to my stool.
“I beg your pardon, sir? I am simply having a mug of Greeley’s best.”
His face twisted even more, becoming indescribably ugly.
“Useta be honest, hard-working gents came in here to wash the dust of a day’s work down. Now we get the likes o’ you!”
He turned away and walked off, his small legs pumping rapidly, swung around the corner at the end of the bar, and disappeared from view.
The barman came up to the counter where I was and grunted.
“That’s Keg. Don’t mind him. He’s just missing his old mates, boys he drank with twenty years ago. Times they change, and people come and go.”
I sipped some more and listened to the barkeep for a bit.
“This place is his home, and always will be. I promised the previous owner I’d keep him on.”
The barman dried the mug he was holding and hung it up above the bar. He stuck his hand out.
“I’m Andy Greeley. Proprietor and bottle-washer here.”
I shook his hand and imbibed a bit more.
“Why does the dwarf make his home here? Is it Christian charity, or is he a useful draw? I wouldn’t think he’d attract customers.”
Andy stuck his hands in his apron and leaned back.
“It’s slow right now. I’ve some time to tell ya. Drain that and I’ll show you something.”
To clear one thing up right away: Keg the dwarf is the main protagonist, not the nameless traveling salesman who stopped in for a drink, or the bartender, Andy Greeley. It’s not a bad beginning, but beginnings have to be fairly sharp and do their job efficiently. What’s the job here? Establish the setting, get you interested in the characters, tease the reader into staying with the story. Since two of the three characters you meet in this section will be important to the rest of the story, there are some things missing, and it needs some tightening up. That’s not to say I’m going to start it in media res (in the middle of things) or make it too modern. It is a period piece and I want some of that nineteenth-century pacing. But it needs fixing, all right.
The first thing I’ll do is work on the conversation between Andy the barkeep and our nameless drummer, make it tighter and shorter.
Then I’ll push all the text together and reparagraph it. You’d be surprised how often that improves the flow or shows flaws you wouldn’t spot as easily. Hmmm, I’ll have Keg flipping the salesman off for a bit more flavor. I should add a brief desciption of Andy to make him come a bit more alive.
Always consider the atmosphere and setting when you build a conversation. Have a character do a bit of ‘business’ as they say in the theatre – have them act or move or hold something. Have a character pick at her nails or look at a bug on the wall. Tie it into an emotion if you can, or have it fulfill a desire. If you want to be coy, have them touch or introduce something important to the story later on. Don’t just have people stand around like talking heads.
Reread. Find a couple of blemishes. Fix them. Greeley’s isn’t ‘new,’ call it ‘good’ instead. Don’t use ‘thirst right next to ‘thirsty.’ Describe Keg’s voice. I don’t like ‘imbibe.’ Change ‘place’ to ‘bar.’ Tweak tweak pluck pluck, but don’t spend hours doing it. Reread again. Say it out loud. Change ‘You never can tell what you’re going to find in a New York bar.’ to ‘You never know what you’re going to find in a New York bar.’ Change ‘I sipped some more and listened to the barkeep for a bit.’ to ‘I sipped some more and listened some more.’
Ponder a few things. Is describing Keg as ugly important to the story? Should I be more considerate to the feelings of little people? I decided to leave it in, as it’s touched on later. I’m putting in a representative character and the other people in the story are treating him the way people from that time would treat him. Besides, he’s going to be the main protagonist.
The denizens of Greeley’s bar are ethnic Irish, with a sprinkling of other immigrants. There is a contrast in their diction compared to the young salesman, who apparently made it through some schooling. Show the distinction but don’t over-emphasize it. Most of the story is a reminiscence. Let the folksy cheerfulness and maudlin references slowly slide away in the succeding sections. This first section is the set-up, the chair you slowly slide out from under the reader.
The revamped section:
The barman pointed at the tap, I nodded, and soon he slid a cool mug of ale to my waiting hand. I took a sip and simultaneously heard a cross scratchy voice complaining.
“Jeez and crackers, another drummer!”
I looked over to my right, and then further down. A tiny, pig-faced man stood there, glaring at my sample case, next to my stool.
“I beg your pardon, sir? I am simply having a mug of Greeley’s best.”
His face twisted even more, becoming indescribably ugly.
“Useta be honest, hard-working gents came in here to wash the dust of a day’s work down. Now we get the likes o’ you!”
He pointed right at my face, made an even ruder gesture and walked off, his small legs pumping rapidly, then swung around the corner at the end of the bar, and disappeared from view.
The barman dried the mug he was holding and hung it up above the bar. He stuck his hand out. I shook it, and did what I do best – listen.
“I’m Andy Greeley. Proprietor and bottle-washer here. That’s Keg. Don’t mind him. He’s just missing his old mates, boys he drank with twenty years ago. Times they change, and people come and go.”
I sipped some more and listened some more.
“This bar is his home, and always will be. I promised the previous owner, I’d keep him on.”
“But why, sir? Why does the dwarf make his home here? Is it Christian charity, or is he a useful draw?”
Andy stuck his hands in his apron and leaned back.
“It’s slow right now. I’ve some time to tell ya the whole tale. Drain that and I’ll show you something.”
I’ll toss the question of his name into the next section:
“He’s called Keg because when he walks his little legs make his body trundle along like you was rolling a small barrel of liquor on its end.”
Reread. It’ll do. I particularly like the apron. Gotta have a place to put your hands.