I’m not participating in NaNoWriMo this year, because I’m too deep into revisions for my Phantom trilogy (book two), but I did set some revision goals: so let’s call it NaNoRe(vision)Mo and share some updates anyway. 🙂
I actually did do a lot of new writing this week, as I realized I needed a couple new scenes in the early stages of the book, to carry a few threads forward rather than trying to jump two months in book time. And the new scenes, combined with the realization that I had the Phantom’s tone all wrong in the next scene after, made for some interesting revision work.
In brief, the Phantom (Erik) is grieving Christine’s departure, and while I don’t want him to be TOO angsty…well, he’s over-dramatic and heartbroken and probably a little angsty. But this scene as it was first written had him too angry and indignant, losing all the apathy and depression he should still be wallowing in. So I rewrote it–still essentially the same scene, all the same action, but a new tone.
Here’s the original:
Erik sat in a narrow passage with his back against the hidden side of the Dance Foyer’s mirrors and fumed. The sheer audacity of the man! And the inconvenience! After so many years of polite disinterest, how dare Mifroid suddenly decide to take up ghost hunting!
He had had to attend the performance from the catwalks, where the acoustics were comparatively dreadful. Not to mention the view was poor, the seating left a good deal to be desired, and he had to keep an eye out for wandering scenechangers the whole while. No, this was simply not acceptable.
And furthermore, why did it have to happen on Saturday? The one day in the entire week that it actually mattered that he have possession of Box Five after the performance—not that it mattered very much, of course. He took a deep breath, carefully checked the free flow of indignation. Talking to Meg was, well, a bit of a diversion. And now Mifroid had managed to disrupt even that.
And here’s the revision–not hugely different, but hopefully it’s all in the nuances!
Erik sat in a narrow passage with his back against the hidden side of the Dance Foyer’s mirrors and resented the world. After so many years of polite disinterest, how dare Mifroid decide to take up ghost hunting. Not that it was news—Meg had told him about Mifroid’s inquiries weeks ago—but this was the first time the police had actually got in his way.
He should have stayed home this evening, never should have bothered to come out of his dark seclusion. He had dragged himself up into the light, and for what? To find the police commissioner sitting in his own personal box, with other policemen running in and out all through the performance with reports. As if it needed that to make it sufficiently obvious that Mifroid was here on business, not for the pleasure of observing the Opera.
He should have left as soon as he realized Mifroid was here. But it was Saturday.
He had lingered in the catwalks all through the performance with a degree of regret that had surprised him. It had been 73 days and 22 hours since she left, which meant—he had to pause to do the math. Nine. This would have been the ninth Saturday since he had started meeting Meg in Box Five.