Okay. Endlessly fascinating for me.
Authors and writers can talk about their writing process interminably. And we think other authors and readers and our husbands, wives, children, girlfriends, boyfriends, the poor guy sitting next to us on an airplane …. We think that the stream of words about what we write and how we write are like precious jewels falling from our lips. And if you ever eavesdrop on an author to author conversation, (Don’t get too close! It’s a trap.) you’ll probably hear what I call “parallel play”. Like when toddlers don’t yet know how to play with each other, so they play side-by-side. One author doesn’t really care about another author’s process. They just want the other author to know how theirs is better than yours. End of story.
But of course, it’s not the “end of story”, because I’m just about to foist upon you, gentle reader/writer/random person three different versions of my upcoming book which I am IN THE FASCINATING PROCESS of editing with very sharp knives. The “KILL YOUR DARLINGS” stage of prepping this story for publication.
Behold. Below you are three different edits to an excerpt of the opening of Ambushed: A De-Extinct Zoo Mystery, Book 3. They all start in the middle of the same sentence. (1) is a tidied raw first draft, mostly spewed on the page. (2), the product of my first ROUNDS of editing (multiple rounds, focusing on coherence and flow of the chapter). And (3), the start of the second ROUNDS of editing which will focus on cutting and smoothing the whole manuscript, one chapter at a time. Below the third version is a screenshot from Word of the changes. Brutal, but that’s what it takes to elevate writing, and I won’t cut corners because I want readers to not just like, but love what I write.
After the first round of editing, I’m starting at 41,028 words for Ambushed. I’m shooting for ~ 36-38 thousand words in this book, so …
Knives out.

(1) Raw First draft Scrivener (398 words)
—the Rio Grande rift and magma at the margins of the Valles Caldera.
Without a glance, he strode past an inky cross tunnel, ignoring the waft of warm fetid air rushing over him. Dripping water echoed like discordant plinks of a…a… He smirked. A balalaika. A lesser man might be afraid for no other reason than a human’s primordial fear of imaginary monsters that lurked in the dark.
He’d had that fear, once, a long time ago. It had been hammered out of him replaced with bravery that had placed him in an elite coterie to lurk like a weasel underground until summoned. His lips twisted in contempt. He was meant for greater things, but thinking out of the box was… lethal.
Since their operation was to remain undetected at all costs, his superior had ordered him to find the source of the water leak. He was to develop solutions to stop its flow before it caught the attention of those on the surface and they sent someone down to investigate. Sloshing through the steamy air, his light hit another tunnel. The single flickering overhead light sat at the intersection. The tunnel ran perpendicular and sloped up on both sides, an access shaft to the next level wide enough for large equipment transport, its lowest point where he stood.
The ceiling rain fell steadily, slicking his shaggy hair to his head and beading on his lashes. The casing covering the flickering light filled with murky water that gave the light’s dying spasms a yellowish tinge. He played his flashlight over a mini-rapids of water rushing down the cross tunnel. It on a flash of dark red swirling in a vortex of fast moving water, before bobbing to bump into his boot. The water level had risen to his ankles.
He leaned over to pick up the red item and pulled up a sopping baseball cap. A sleeveless puffer vest slinked down the cross tunnel next and slid around his boots, followed by a water bottle, stretch leggings, pink underwear, and rotting food trash.
He hissed his displeasure. Even though BioPark security ran periodic half-hearted evictions sweeps, vagrants infested abandoned sections of these underground warrens. While his team had been able to keep the sometimes violent derelicts out of the spaces they’d claimed for the mission, some had obviously crept back based on the detritus he was seeing.
(2) First Rounds of edits (429 words)
—the Rio Grande rift and magma at the margins of the Valles Caldera.
He strode past another inky black cross tunnel, ignoring the waft of warm fetid air rushing over him. Dripping water echoed like discordant plinks of a…a… He smirked. A balalaika. A lesser man might be afraid for no other reason than imaginary monsters that lurked in their head.
He’d had that primordial fear, once, a long time ago. It had been hammered out of him and replaced with boldness that had earned him a position in an elite coterie, allowing him to lurk like a weasel underground until summoned.
His lips twisted in contempt. He was meant for greater things. But since their operation was to remain undetected at all costs, his superior had ordered him to find the source of the water leak.
Leak. He scoffed. Deluge. As if someone had punctured giant holes in a surface lake to drain it like a colander or a rushing river had been diverted underground. He was to develop solutions to stop its flow before it caught the attention of those on the surface.
And how was he supposed to do that? Pull them like cotton candy from his ass?
She expected too much. He thought she was crazy. Not that he’d ever say it out loud. That would be lethal.
The ceiling rain fell steadily now, slicking his shaggy hair to his head and beading on his lashes. Sloshing through the steamy air, he arrived at an intersecting passageway, hosting the single flickering light he’d seen earlier. Like the others, murky water filled the dome casing, casting a yellowish tinge to the light’s dying spasms. Its wiring ran into the second, tunnel, which sloped up and curved, one of dozens of perpendicular passages for access to the upper levels, all wide and high enough for large equipment transport. He played his flashlight over a mini-rapids rushing down the cross tunnel. It caught on a flash of dark red swirling in a vortex of fast-moving water before slowing next to his boot. He leaned over and picked up a torn, sopping baseball cap.
A grimy sleeveless puffer vest slinked down the cross tunnel next and slid around his boots, followed by a cracked water bottle, stretch leggings, pink underwear, and rotting food trash.
He hissed his displeasure. Even though BioPark security ran periodic half-hearted eviction sweeps, vagrants infested abandoned sections of these underground warrens. While his team had kept the sometimes violent derelicts out of the spaces they’d claimed for their operation, some had obviously crept back.
(3) Second Rounds of edits (332 words)
—the Rio Grande rift, its magma deep below. Heat did nothing but perfume the stifling air with the stench of an open latrine.
He strode past another murky cross tunnel, ignoring the breath of warm fetid air that could well spring from monsters inhabiting dark fairytales. He’d held that primordial terror once, a long time ago. It had been beaten out of him, replaced with boldness that had earned him a position in an elite unit … that commanded him to lurk like a weasel underground.
He was meant for greater things. But their operation was to stay undetected at all costs, and his superior had ordered him to locate the source of the leak.
Leak. He scoffed. Deluge. Like someone punctured holes in the lake above to drain it like a colander underground. His task? To develop solutions before those on the surface noticed.
How was he supposed to do that? Pull them like cotton candy from his ass?
She expected too much. Not that he’d ever say it out loud. That would be lethal.
The ceiling rained on him now, droplets slicking his hair to his head and beading on his lashes. Sloshing through ankle deep water, he arrived at the intersecting passageway hosting the single flickering light. Like the others, murky water filled the dome casing, casting a yellowish tinge to its dying spasms. Its wiring ran into the second tunnel, which spiraled upward. He played his beam over a mini rapids rushing down the cross tunnel. It caught on a flash of red swirling in the fast-moving water before slowing next to his foot. He leaned over and picked up a sodden baseball cap.
A grimy sleeveless puffer vest slinked around his boots, followed by an empty plastic water bottle, pink underwear, and rotting food. Though BioPark security ran periodic half-hearted sweeps, vagrants populated abandoned sections of these underground warrens. His team labored to keep derelicts out of their operational spaces they’d, but they’d obviously slunk back.

Thanks for bearing with me. Just FYI, after starting the second round of editing, I cut the first chapter from 1091 words to 889 words. If I can cut that much for each of the 20 chapters, that would add up to 4040 and a final word count of 36,988. Wish me luck.
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