Ep 140: Listen for the Music – More Self-Editing Tips from ‘The Artful Edit’ - a podcast by Ann Kroeker

In her book The Artful Edit, Susan Bell says editing “involves a deep, long meditation within which the editor or self-editor listens to every last sound the prose before him makes, then separates the music from the noise" (5).



We talked last time about the need to listen—we even explored ways to do so. Now we’re taking it to a more intense level involving "a deep, long meditation," as Bell emphasizes the need to listen to "every last sound the prose" before us makes.



This takes time. Attention. Focus. We're making decisions based on what we hear, listening with a discerning ear, to separate the music from the noise.



Listen for the music.



Eliminate the noise.





The Noise

Let’s start with the noise. I suspect most of us would agree we writers don’t want to add to the noise of the world, nor do we want to simply make noise with our words. No need to sound like a clanging cymbal unless that’s adding pizzazz or punctuation to drive home a point.



So we must recognize when a passage isn’t pulling its weight. Have you read something that feels like it’s sagging, long-winded, or slow? Yeah, that’s probably a sign it ought to be examined more closely and tightened or even eliminated.



Susan Bell says in a later chapter, “Develop your editor’s eye to see where your words slouch.” Though she’s switched from listening to seeing, I suspect avid readers who have grown to love the sound of words can see or sense a slouchy passage, especially when reading aloud. We may be able to spot it on the page, too, if the paragraph is packed with long sentences, too much detail, or lack of clarity or focus.



You’ve probably hit a sluggish, slouchy passage if you realize you’re speed-reading to rush through a section or you caught your mind wandering. Your text probably needs attention if you're reading and re-reading a passage because it didn’t click the first time.

Mego

And heaven forbid if your eyes glaze over.



The late Ben Bradlee, legendary editor of The Washington Post, coined a term for a bad story: “mego.” A story that bored him was “mego," M-E-G-O, the acronym for “my eyes glaze over.” 



If you’re reading and your eyes are glazing over, flag that section. Come back and tighten it, condense it, or if it isn’t necessary, simply delete it. Slouchy words and passages will tire or bore your reader. You’ll risk mego.



Minimize mego. Maximize music.

Making Music

So let’s talk about the music. Bell advises, "you can rhythmically hold on to [your reader] by controlling the musical measure of your prose" (119). A balance of sentence length is a simple fix, but it’s not a science. I can’t tell you to add three compound-complex sentences followed by a short sentence for the perfect combination.



I like to think we’ll know music when we hear it.



It’s the sound of the sentences flowing from one to the other. It’s the word choices that roll off the tongue with ease. It’s the idea that engages the mind without having to read it twice and the scene that unfolds naturally so the reader practically steps into it.



The flow of the passage serves the story or the idea. The music serves the message.



Author Mary Caponegro says:

I’d always write out loud. When I got that opening, I would repeat it out loud, over and over and over…because it was so important to me that the sonic qualities were intact in every single line. A lot of my self-editing would be preoccupied with trying to maintain the standard in my head of musicality. (171)

She seems to enter that long, deep meditation Bell describes to listen to every last sound the prose makes. She’s intent on making music, first. Above all.

Beige or Purple Prose

When crafting lyrical prose—or trying to—writers are tempted to go too far ...

Further episodes of Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach

Further podcasts by Ann Kroeker

Website of Ann Kroeker