Use the Good to Become Better

Several writer’s group members have expressed interest in Frank’s daily practice of taking a paragraph from a bestselling novel and striving to make it better. So maybe we should explain his process in greater depth than what we’ve done in previous blogs, giving an example.

Here are the steps he takes: (1) Highlight the paragraph. (2) Read it aloud. (3) Copy the paragraph. While typing, he’ll again read it aloud. (4) Edit it. (5) Improve it. (6) Write it in his own words. Since he isn’t Peter Pan, with writer’s pixie dust to quickly fly from reality to the Neverland of imagination, progressive improvement steps are needed to move from the original to something more in his style, hopefully better.

Frank says this process, after a year, will do more for his writing skills than a college course. And he’s not paying tuition.

Here’s one practice example, from page 119 of Pirate Latitudes by Michael Crichton, a novel that was published after his death. Compare the “Original” with the “More in My Style” paragraph. Which one do you think is better? If you read the in-between steps, you might get a better idea of the places where one thought for improvement leads to another.

Original:
Hunter took the glass, and drank a little. He felt mesmerized, almost in a trance. But the taste of the claret broke the spell of the moment; the ordinary gesture of lifting the glass to his lips and swallowing brought him back to himself. His shock passed away, and he began to notice a thousand tiny details. He heard the breathing of the soldier behind him; probably two paces behind, he thought. He saw the irregularity of Cazalla’s beard and guessed the man had been some days at sea. He smelled the garlic on Cazalla’s breath as he leaned forward and said, “Now, Englishman. Tell me: what is your name?”

Copied:
Hunter took the glass, and drank a little. He felt mesmerized, almost in a trance. But the taste of the claret broke the spell of the moment; the ordinary gesture of lifting the glass to his lips and swallowing brought him back to himself. His shock passed away, and he began to notice a thousand tiny details. He heard the breathing of the soldier behind him; probably two paces behind, he thought. He saw the irregularity of Cazalla’s beard and guessed the man had been some days at sea. He smelled the garlic on Cazalla’s breath as he leaned forward and said, “Now, Englishman. Tell me: what is your name?”

Edited:
Hunter took the glass and drank a little. He felt mesmerized, almost in a trance. But the sweetness of the wine broke the spell of the moment. The ordinary gesture of lifting the glass to his lips and swallowing brought him back to himself. His shock passed away, and he noticed tiny details he hadn’t seen before. He heard the breathing of the soldier behind him, probably two paces behind. He saw the irregularity of Cazalla’s beard and guessed the man had been some days at sea. He smelled the garlic on Cazalla’s breath as Cazalla leaned forward and said, “Now, Englishman. Tell me: what is your name?”

Improved:
Hunter took the glass and drank a little. He felt mesmerized, almost in a trance, until the sweetness of the wine broke the momentary spell. The simple lifting of the glass to his lips and swallowing brought fresh awareness. His shock passed, and he noticed tiny details he hadn’t seen before. He heard the breathing of the soldier behind him, probably two paces behind. He saw the irregularity of Cazalla’s beard, a sign that he had been some days at sea. He smelled the garlic on Cazalla’s breath as the man leaned forward and said, “Now, Englishman. Tell me: what is your name?”

More in My Style:
Hunter took the glass and drank a little. He felt mesmerized, like in a trance, until the wine’s sweetness broke the momentary spell. The simple lifting of the glass to his lips and swallowing brought deep awareness. His shock had passed, and tiny details became important. The breathing of the soldier behind him, probably two paces away. The irregularity of Cazalla’s beard, a sign that the captain had been some days at sea. The garlic on Cazalla’s breath.
The captain leaned forward, his eyes penetrating. “Now, Englishman. Tell me. What is your name?”