Writing: Overediting Story..
A quick note on editing text, followed by a freehand chapter
Editing stories can seem like a daunting process, especially when you are first starting out with a story. I have a lot of trouble overediting before the story is finished, and it significantly slows down the writing process. I do have a good eye for quality, especially in literature, and this often results in me writing the first sentence of a scene, immediately seeing that it needs to be changed, and then editing that first sentence. This is not good, and I’ve learned that you have to write out a terrible rough version of the entire plot and story structure before beginning to edit anything. That’s why I’m writing this story off the cuff, like a classic Western, knowing I will probably change every sentence before the final product is complete. There’s no setting imagery, no real visualization of the characters, the dialogue doesn’t flow well, and there’s no character development yet—it’s all bad. However, I have advanced the plot of the story from discovering a name to understanding the townsfolk’s relation to that name, which is very important in finding the man Halliday is after.
I’m not writing down specific areas to be changed yet; that will come later. In my folder of things to be revised, it’s more about general ideas relating to the plot and characters at this point. Eventually, after going through everything, I’ll be able to pinpoint the areas that need adjustment and fine-tune everything, but not yet. Also chapters are very short, Its mostly one scene per chapter at this point, may be combined later.
Strikethrough for the stuff that needs taken out, italics for the stuff that will definitely be changed.
Halliday
Chapter 2:
The town was finally beginning to liven up as Halliday stepped onto the boardwalk that afternoon. The false-fronted buildings were rimmed in frost, butted up against the towering walls of ice. The Melting Pot Bar across the street from the hotel had men going in and out constantly, and a train of toboggans was parked outside the general store; two men with white leather overcloaks were wrestling a particularly awkward piece of strut metal into one of them.
Halliday crossed the street toward the blacksmith's shop, sliding across the ice, following the sound of automatic hammers and the blowing hot air from electric furnaces. Inside, Old Jim Hendricks was bent over an oddly shaped circular piece of metal, attempting to close the circle and tack-weld it in place. As John Halliday shut the door behind him, Hendricks's grip slipped, and the circle sprang back open. Hendricks dropped the piece of metal to the floor and kicked it across the room.
"No machine built yet that can turn a 8 mil peice of 1018 into a good enough circle, and this old man has to suffer every time someone needs one. What can I do for you Stranger?"
John spent some time surveying the shop with a critical eye. "Nice place you have here, a little messy, but I can tell when someone knows his stuff."
"Been working in this business for 23 years mister, I've just about got it so's folks'll come to me for just about everything.”
"I don’t doubt it friend, I can see you have enough set aside for some 1095 in your stockpile there. I need a set of blades, the finest steel you have. Blunted tip if you can muster it, My boots have a 10 milimeter fitting. They should be fast sure, but I do a lot of scrambling when I’m out and about. And a good pair of spikers to go with them. I can assure you the extra time will be well worth it."
Old Jim raised one eyebrow.
"Thats a steep demand friend, and some damned good steel I'll be banging on. Who are you anyways?"
"I thought you've heard by now, that shrimp of a clerk down at the station sure likes to tell people bout all the unsuspecting men who come in on the stage"
John set two gold coins down on the table. "You'll find out who I am soon enough, there is something you might be able to help me with though.”
He paused, and the blacksmith looked up, curious. “Maybe I can, what is it?”
“I’m looking for a man, his name is Dutch Vanderbilt?”
“Dutch … Vanderbilt?”
His face went from pleasantly curious to stone cold in a matter of seconds. John was caught offguard by the instant change in demeanor.
“Yes, a friend of mine did some business with him back in the states, do you know where I could … "
From stone cold to angry, just as fast as before.
"You’ll have to ask someone else I don’t know where he is.”
"Do you know what he looks like? Maybe his hair color, or.."
"NO! And don’t ask me again, and don’t come into my shop ever again, I don’t have time to make a new set of blades either, you’ll have to buy from the store.”
Halliday carefully leaned back against the wall, he stared at the man for a long moment before speaking.
"Alright then,” Each word was said deliberately, a clear threat behind them. “I won’t bring him up anymore, but it seems to me you had all the time in the world to get a fine set of blades fitted for me, and I was fixing to pay you well for your work. Now I think maybe I’ll forget about you just said if you forget about what I said. I’ll be back for the blades tonight, and you’ll be payed well, as long as I receive the product I’m expecting.."
John stepped back to the door. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement, no hard feelings, I really do need a set of blades,” he said.
Old Jim grumbled and turned back to his forge. John slipped out of the door, making sure to close it quickly.
The cool air washed over his face, turning his breath into puffs of fog as Halliday strolled down the boardwalk. Why had Old Jim changed so suddenly at the mention of this Dutch fellow? Was he protecting the man, or was it fear of something worse? And that clerk at the stage station—he'd been relaying information to Dutch out of obligation, or something more sinister? Something wasn't right in this town, and Halliday was beginning to see that the pieces just weren't adding up.