Joanna Penn, 2009. No changes made. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/legalcode
I've run out of time to write a decent article this week, so I've decided to try putting up an example of some editing that I've been doing recently. This is not the best example that I could have picked, as there were no dramatic changes that really needed to be made. But there are still little details where I've tried to improve the flow of sentences and avoid using the same word too often, etc. I plan to post an editing example approximately once a month, so if this pushes your buttons - and you would be unusual if it does! - stop by to check it out. These excerpts are from the fifth book of The Fledgling Account series (the first four books of which are due to release this year).
The Original Excerpt
He attained his fastest running speed in a few seconds. It was the speed everyone found unnatural in him, but it still felt agonising. At last, he saw the silvery water, still with little islands of ice on it. Startling two shiny shads, he threw himself into it, and the flames flashed through the water momentarily – like tadpoles – and then vanished.
Kesmal. It never failed to surprise him in the most unpleasant ways.
He rose and stepped out of the creek, shivering, one finger gingerly probing the depths of his pocket. A twig or something was stuck to his back. He flung a hand over his shoulder, meaning to brush it off. It dug into his back with savage claws.
He gave another yell and began jumping up and down, throwing himself around, trying to be rid of it. It couldn’t be an oxalum, because they didn’t like water. He threw his back against a baldcypress, but the instant before his spine hit the pink-brown bark, he felt the thing crawl up with supernatural speed to perch on his shoulder. Sherwin groaned in pain, but it remained unmoved with the impact. He snatched at it, and to his surprise, it grabbed his hand and allowed him to bring it into view.
It was small, black, and shiny, with knotted limbs and a long, pointy head. Its moist eyelids parted further to show the full color of the agonisingly bright yellow eyes. Sherwin stared at it with intrigue.
“Itizo, hral,” it said in a many-layered, vibrating voice with a presence bigger than the size of its body.
*
One lonely horse was tethered to a post in the grass ahead, and Rafen walked toward it with sudden purpose. When he reached it, he stroked the mane slowly. It belonged to one of Richard’s philosophers, but it bore him no malice.
His eyes moved back to the wound the Lashki had given him months ago – the wound that had been so much better in the vision. The swirling and sweeping of clear, mannish spirits in his vision distracted him momentarily. His Spirit Awareness was his most disturbing defect.
The Edited Excerpt
He attained his fastest speed in seconds – the speed everyone found unnatural in him. It still felt agonising. At last, he saw the silvery water, still with little islands of ice on it. Startling two shiny shads, he threw himself into the creek. The flames flashed through the water momentarily – like tadpoles – and then vanished.
Kesmal. It never failed to surprise him in the most unpleasant ways.
He rose and stepped out of the water, shivering, one finger gingerly probing the depths of his pocket. A twig was stuck to his back. He flung a hand over his shoulder, meaning to brush it off. It dug into his back with savage claws.
He began jumping up and down, throwing himself around, trying to dislodge it. It couldn’t be an oxalum, because they didn’t like water. He threw his back against a baldcypress, but the instant before his spine hit the pink-brown bark, the thing crawled up to his shoulder with supernatural speed. Sherwin groaned in pain, and it remained unmoved. He snatched at it, and to his surprise, it grabbed his hand and allowed him to bring it into view.
It was small, black, and shiny, with knotted limbs and a long pointy head. Its moist eyelids parted further to show the agonisingly bright yellow eyes. Sherwin stared at it with intrigue.
“Itizo, hral.”
Its many-layered, vibrating voice possessed a presence bigger than its body.
*
One lonely horse was tethered to a post in the grass ahead, and Rafen walked toward it, suddenly purposeful. Reaching it, he stroked the mane slowly. It belonged to one of Richard’s philosophers, but it bore him no malice.
His eyes moved back to the wound the Lashki had given him months ago – the wound that had been almost healed in his vision.
The swirling of clear, mannish spirits in his vision distracted him momentarily. His Spirit Awareness was his most disturbing defect.
The Original Excerpt
He attained his fastest running speed in a few seconds. It was the speed everyone found unnatural in him, but it still felt agonising. At last, he saw the silvery water, still with little islands of ice on it. Startling two shiny shads, he threw himself into it, and the flames flashed through the water momentarily – like tadpoles – and then vanished.
Kesmal. It never failed to surprise him in the most unpleasant ways.
He rose and stepped out of the creek, shivering, one finger gingerly probing the depths of his pocket. A twig or something was stuck to his back. He flung a hand over his shoulder, meaning to brush it off. It dug into his back with savage claws.
He gave another yell and began jumping up and down, throwing himself around, trying to be rid of it. It couldn’t be an oxalum, because they didn’t like water. He threw his back against a baldcypress, but the instant before his spine hit the pink-brown bark, he felt the thing crawl up with supernatural speed to perch on his shoulder. Sherwin groaned in pain, but it remained unmoved with the impact. He snatched at it, and to his surprise, it grabbed his hand and allowed him to bring it into view.
It was small, black, and shiny, with knotted limbs and a long, pointy head. Its moist eyelids parted further to show the full color of the agonisingly bright yellow eyes. Sherwin stared at it with intrigue.
“Itizo, hral,” it said in a many-layered, vibrating voice with a presence bigger than the size of its body.
*
One lonely horse was tethered to a post in the grass ahead, and Rafen walked toward it with sudden purpose. When he reached it, he stroked the mane slowly. It belonged to one of Richard’s philosophers, but it bore him no malice.
His eyes moved back to the wound the Lashki had given him months ago – the wound that had been so much better in the vision. The swirling and sweeping of clear, mannish spirits in his vision distracted him momentarily. His Spirit Awareness was his most disturbing defect.
The Edited Excerpt
He attained his fastest speed in seconds – the speed everyone found unnatural in him. It still felt agonising. At last, he saw the silvery water, still with little islands of ice on it. Startling two shiny shads, he threw himself into the creek. The flames flashed through the water momentarily – like tadpoles – and then vanished.
Kesmal. It never failed to surprise him in the most unpleasant ways.
He rose and stepped out of the water, shivering, one finger gingerly probing the depths of his pocket. A twig was stuck to his back. He flung a hand over his shoulder, meaning to brush it off. It dug into his back with savage claws.
He began jumping up and down, throwing himself around, trying to dislodge it. It couldn’t be an oxalum, because they didn’t like water. He threw his back against a baldcypress, but the instant before his spine hit the pink-brown bark, the thing crawled up to his shoulder with supernatural speed. Sherwin groaned in pain, and it remained unmoved. He snatched at it, and to his surprise, it grabbed his hand and allowed him to bring it into view.
It was small, black, and shiny, with knotted limbs and a long pointy head. Its moist eyelids parted further to show the agonisingly bright yellow eyes. Sherwin stared at it with intrigue.
“Itizo, hral.”
Its many-layered, vibrating voice possessed a presence bigger than its body.
*
One lonely horse was tethered to a post in the grass ahead, and Rafen walked toward it, suddenly purposeful. Reaching it, he stroked the mane slowly. It belonged to one of Richard’s philosophers, but it bore him no malice.
His eyes moved back to the wound the Lashki had given him months ago – the wound that had been almost healed in his vision.
The swirling of clear, mannish spirits in his vision distracted him momentarily. His Spirit Awareness was his most disturbing defect.
