Editing The Kitchen Sink
Kitchen Sink Draft. That’s what I call the initial draft of any project I work on. In this no-one-will-see-it-but-me-document, I throw everything in so the name fits. Recently I realized the kitchen sink analogy is also a great way to tackle the overwhelming early editing process.
Click image for a Shel Silverstein poem and info about him
First, a word about kitchen sink drafting. Merriam Webster defines kitchen sink (not the plumbing fixture) as ‘an extremely large number of things’ and like kitchen sink brownies the goal is to load it up with a whole lot of goodness. Don’t evaluate, you just write. It’s a party; use every dish in the house. Pull out everything in your head. Pile it up until your creative kitchen sink is as full as a Shel Silverstein illustration. Only when the party’s winding down do you start to sort it out. That might be at 30 pages or 300. It’s whenever you feel like you have a good sense of beginning, middle, end and who all the characters are.
Once you’ve got everything out of your head and into the sink it’s time to clean up the beautiful mess. Like the aftermath of a Super Bowl party, you’ve got to spread it across the counter and start sorting through it. Use notecards, Google slides, Scrivener, or simply type a list of scenes and snip it up with scissors - whatever works for you to capture each scene in a way that you can easily sort and rearrange. This takes a little time but it’s worth it. Simplifying in this way gives you the distance from the draft you need to be able to look at each scene and evaluate it where it belongs.
“Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now.”
Scenes that move the story forward and are critical to the emotional journey of the characters are keepers. Large or small, messy or clean, those scenes get neatly arranged into the dishwasher. In this runaway analogy the dishwasher is a plot arc. Take a little time to jot the plot and structure on a piece of paper so you know, in general, what the result should look like - or should I say so you know what the inside of your dishwasher looks like.
As you sort through the items in your sink you will find dishes that clearly do not belong. In the aftermath of the party, you’ve ended up with someone else’s flatware. These are scenes that are lovely and you want to keep them, but they belong to other stories. Put them in a safe place. You’ll find their true home later on some other project. Do not be tempted to force them into your dishwasher.
There will also be dishes that are missing. Gaps in the rack of the dishwasher where you realize you need to find something to fill in. Make a note to fill those in later.
Some scenes need pre-scrubbing before going in the dishwasher. Like sticky plastic cups, stacked together some scenes need to be yanked apart to be organized. Focus on the intent of the moments in each scene. Perhaps one piece of dialogue needs to happen earlier or one action needs to happen in a different setting. Don’t re-write now just cut and organize. You will fill them in and make them work later. Trust your abilities.
“When you write you tell yourself a story. When you rewrite you take out everything that is NOT the story.”
This brings us to the paper plates. These are the scenes that have served their purpose and now they just need to go away. Don’t mourn the loss of those scenes. They made the party possible, that doesn’t mean you need to keep it for all time. Let them go.
Now that everything is sorted into the dishwasher you can just flip the switch and forty minutes later have a squeaky clean new novel, right? Ha. Pull on those yellow gloves, my friend, this dishwasher runs on creativity and sweat. All the scrubbing is up to you, but you’ve enjoyed the party, you’ve got all the dishes out of the sink and sorted so you’re well on your way.
Enjoy the process. Soon you’ll have a strong, focused full draft ready to share with critique partners and the journey will continue.
