Too often, I forget that the word "revision" contains the
word "vision." The process of rewriting
requires the writer to see the work with fresh eyes.
To clear your eyes, it helps to create a distance of time
and space between you and the text. When
that distance is great enough -- months, or even years -- the text seems almost
new, as if written by another hand.
When I read a passage from my own book, "Writing Tools," for
example, I'm shocked at how strange it seems. "I don't remember writing that
paragraph at all," I've declared to more than one audience.
Distance helps revision even if you are writing on
deadline. The trick is a brief escape
from the working draft -- a walk around the block, a cup of coffee in the
cafeteria.
On deadline, when changes have to be considered quickly, I apply a simple
vision test to my prose, a test I learned in my eye doctor's office years
ago. I call it: "A little better, a little worse, about the
same."
Most of us have sat in that chair in a darkened room with
the eye chart projected on the wall. The
doctor swings a machine over and rests it against your face to check the power
of your lenses and the clarity of your vision.
(Thanks to Norma at Dr. Updegraff's office for providing the name of
this equipment. It's a phoropter!)
As your vision gets sharper, the distinctions between lenses become more
difficult to perceive: "A little
better?" the technician asks. "A little worse? About the same?" Think of it as a literal form of re-vision.
The great editorial writer Paul Greenberg once told me that
he knows when he's about finished with a column or editorial: "It's when I take all the commas out, then put them all back in."
That leads me to this strategy: Every change in copy should pass the vision
test. It has to make the story at least "a little better." If the change makes
it worse, or keeps it about the same, stick with the original.
Every writer needs a phoropter.
Listen to Roy's newest podcast on
Writing Tool #25. For all of Roy's podcasts on Writing Tools,
click here.
