In the Throes of Revision

Que tal la vida?

This week, TESS AND THE TRINKET is undergoing it's first macro-revision from start to finish. I've hand-edited 85 printed pages so far, and I'll be going back into the document and making the changes on my laptop. The overall goal is to bring the word count way down on this manuscript. Like, at least 20,000 words down! No sweat ;)


Favorite Excerpt of the Week

I recently edited a chapter which introduces a minor villain named Lieutenant Pilt. It is a favorite of mine, because it highlights the wonderfully enthusiastic towhee, Profigliano. Profigliano got his name from an improv game that I played at least twice a week for four years in college. The character himself is loosely based on one of my very best friends, who has a record-low voice and a record-high capacity to make me laugh. Note that this little bird has recently discovered that he can use golden magic, though he is not sure how to conjure it up.

"Gotcha, you shifty character," shouted Profigliano, speaking to the caterpillar he snagged from the trunk of the willow oak. Completely unaware of the approaching danger, the robust towhee was enjoying himself immensely. "I hope you told Mrs. Caterpillar you loved her today," Profigliano chortled, keeping the insect between his talons. Then he paused thoughtfully and said, "Oh, that was a wee bit heartless of me, my fuzzy friend. I-ya didn't mean to make things less comfortable for you, neighbor."

With a sudden whir, Pilt's arrow shot past Profigliano's wing. As the crude weapon flew, a net of rope blew open and enveloped Profigliano. The towhee completely lost hold of his little snack, as he was unceremoniously lifted from his perch. With a soft thud, the arrow sank into the ground and Profigliano tumbled helplessly behind it.

"State your name and your purpose in the Hinge, bird," said Pilt.

"Now, now, now, now," replied Profigliano, a little breathless. "Leeet's not be so silly as to forget that it is you thugbugs who've got some answerin' to do." Profigliano pressed a defiant eye against a hole in the mesh. "What makes you so sure I don't have a few golden bubbles up my sleeve? Eh, big boysss?"

"E's not right in the head, 'tenant Pilt," observed Root.