Editing the Fancy Foop

The Elegant Editing of the Fancy Foop

I was having a tough time with the middle of a story that I'd been writing. It's what I deserve, I guess, for changing the way I write and expecting it to go smoothly the first time out of the barn. And of course, there's another problem, and that's my fault, too. "The first time out of the barn" - nobody talks like that anymore. It made sense when people rode in little wagons pulled by horses. They'd get a new horse and hitch him up to a carriage in the barn, then open the door and he might not feel like cooperating. In fact, there was no telling what he'd do. It might take a little coaxing before he'd agree to do his job and pull that funny thing that was following close behind him. So the first - well, you get the idea.

The way I was going at this story was part of my campaign of self-improvement. Usually, I start out with a couple of characters and some sort of a premise, write the opening page or two, and then just follow wherever the story seems to lead me. But my friends and a couple of English teachers had told me that the right way is to plan the story and make an outline, then write to the outline. Two other droplets of wisdom that I picked up along the way said that the beginning is crucial because it keeps the reader from setting the story aside and taking a nap, and the ending is what leaves the reader feeling one way or the other about the whole tale.

I began my story about Jerry and his friends, and put together an opening that would pull the reader in headfirst, yank him right out of his shoes. I was really proud of it. That left me looking at an opening and an outline, and no more words came dancing across the screen. But hey, the ending is supposed to be important, too, so how about taking a crack at that? When I was done, it ran almost two pages and it tied up all the loose ends, and made the reader understand that he was already a better person just because he'd read my masterpiece. I could just see those little gold stars descending on me, five at a clip. After all, the most important parts are done, right? The middle, well, that would just go along for the ride.

The trouble was that it didn't. For weeks I had a start and a finish, and nothing in between. Like a ham sandwich with just the bread. I sat at the keyboard and waited for the ham to come along, and nothing happened. My lead character, Jerry, was just standing around waiting for me to give him a shove. I was getting anxious to have the yawning gap filled, and I imagined that Jerry was, too.

Finally, one Thursday I got determined. I set the outline aside and started writing about Jerry did this, and Jerry said that, and what kind of a car Jerry drove, and how Jerry's sore back felt, and of course, Jerry's hangups about his mother - all the things I could think of about Jerry. Just before I broke for supper, I had him in a saloon playing shuffleboard. He and his partner, playing red, needed just four points to go out, and Jerry was up. His opponent had two pucks just over the line, side by side. Jerry had the hammer. He took aim and rode the side of the board with two fingers to steady his hand, and let the puck go. It sailed true, and from the time it left his hand he could see that it was going to punch its way right between those two pucks that the opponent had parked there so neatly to guard his points. from attack. Jerry smiled and his partner went into a little dance as the red puck smashed into the two black ones simultaneously, and they flew off the board, sweeping their companion off with them and leaving only Jerry's pucks in scoring positions to win the game! His last shot had combined brilliant defense and offense, all in one fell swoop!

That happy outcome was exactly what I needed to lift Jerry's spirits so he could face a new challenge in the next chapter, so I was pleased to be leaving the story on an upbeat. One more afternoon as good as this one, and my story would be ready to send off for editing. It could be submitted by the end of the month, ahead of the holiday rush! Move over, Hemingway.

By the next night I had the finished story in my hands. It didn't seem to me like all that much, but it was strong at the start and finish, and I had written to an outline, more or less. I sent it off to my usual editors, Sally and Herb, to be picked apart and made whole again, with all the words spelled right and all the subjects and verbs in harmonious agreement. In my note to them I stressed that I'd like to get it in by the end of the month, and then I left them to smooth it out into a passable product.

What came back was barely recognizable. I was shocked, and called Sally right away. She suggested that the three of us should get together for a story conference. Saturday morning we met at my house, and I was in a grim mood as I led them down to my basement man-cave, also known as The Dungeon.

"What happened to the saloon shuffleboard scene?"

"Yeah, that was a real problem. We worked long and hard on that one before we got it all straightened out. I was so surprised, because you don't normally get confused like that. But it's all right now."

"All right? It's completely unrecognizable."

Herb brightened, obviously mistaking my complaint for a compliment. "Our first indication of trouble was what you did with those consonants. It was almost like a Spoonerism."

"What the hell is a Spoonerism?"

"Spooner was an Anglican priest who would get excited and mix his words up. One time, he was trying to announce the hymn 'Conquering Kings Their Titles Take' and it came out all wrong. 'Conquering Kings' came out 'Kinquering Congs', and one version of the story has it that 'Titles Take' came out as 'Taytles Tyke'."

"And you think I did the same thing?"

"Well, sure you did. That foop business. It took me a while to figure out what you were talking about, and I needed Sally to help me. She was the one who figured out that the foop was supposed to be fancy. But she liked 'elegant' better, so that's what we put in there. But we didn't really know what an elegant one would look like, so we couldn't add any description to back up the elegance, other than to say that it was positively majestic compared to a regular one. I knew you'd like that.

"That hammer threw me for a loss. I didn't know what you wanted it for, and I couldn't detect any suggestion that something needed to be repaired, but when we had all the rest figured out we could see that it was left behind from some other business that you wrote and then deleted. So we just threw away the hammer. Hey, that's just like an Olympic event, isn't it?

"But look, you don't need to go on about it. Sure, it was a lot harder than your stuff usually makes us work, but just think of it as friends going the extra mile to help a friend. You'd do the same for us, I'm sure." I was starting to have some grim ideas about what I'd do for them, but Sally interrupted my dark thoughts.

"Reading it over, I realized that the setting was wrong. You were probably looking forward to a frosty one at the end of a long writing session, so your subconscious took over and you wrote that it was in a saloon. But once I saw that you really meant a 'salon', our task was clear. French words don't go over too well with our readers, so I needed an English equivalent. In French, a salon is an intimate gathering place, like a formal parlor or a sitting room. I substituted 'drawing room' which is what the English would call it, and that maintained the note of European elegance that you were clearly striving for."

My head was spinning. I think I might have made a small choking sound, but she went blithely on.

"The shuffleboard threw both of us. A drawing room is usually carpeted, but shuffleboard is played on concrete, with the triangular scoring pad at each end marked out with paint. You couldn't have that in a drawing room, so that's why I needed the glass wall looking out onto the patio, where a man and woman were playing shuffleboard. We didn't know how they'd be involved with the characters you had already provided, but Harry came to the rescue, by making it a game between two well-endowed young women wearing bikinis. Our readers are always ready to welcome scantily clad, healthy young women, so they won't get all worked up about where these two came from. At the end of the game, Jerry's friend is watching as the girl playing red wins the game with one hard shot, but it twists her torso so hard that her left breast pops out. Jerry's friend's little dance was understandable but a little much for the refined scene of the drawing room, so we decided he should smile and stroke his mustache and comment, "I say, jolly good." That adds irony, because he's talking about the breast, but the others will think he's talking about the game.

"Did I happen to tell you that I was anxious to get it submitted?"

Sally nodded proudly to Herb, who explained, "We sent it on in for you, and in the remarks section we just noted that you were anxious to get it approved without delay. I think it's probably posted right now. But don't look for it with that title you had on it. We fixed that. I'm sure you'll like it."

I turned to the computer and fired up the website, called up my control panel and punched 'Submissions: View'. Scrolling down I found it: 'Jerry and the Magnificent Foop'. My hand was shaking on the mouse as I maneuvered over to the status box, where I saw that tragic word in blue, 'Approved'.

I happened to notice the numbers, and was amazed to see that it already had 186 votes, and the score was 4.79. Herb patted me on the back and said, "So there you are. Another solid Red H. Congratulations!"

I couldn't take this. I was still struggling to comprehend what had happened, or why, but it was all too much to take without something to drink. "How about a beer?"

Sally looked a little shocked. "Isn't it a bit early in the day to start?" Then she looked closely at my face. I don't know what expression she read there, but it was enough to persuade her to humor me, and back away a step or two. "Oh, sure, we'll be glad to join you. Anything you say. Make ours light."

I grabbed three bottles from the fridge and popped the caps off. Sally had gone to the computer and pulled up the start of the story to see that the Author's Note got italicized properly. Sure enough, there it was: 'Thanks to my wonderful editors, Moon Lighter and Miss Eltoe, for making my story easier and more interesting to read.' Yeah, sure.

Raising our bottles, we clinked them together and I announced, "To fiction!" I knew they'd never guess I meant the editing credit.

"Herb, you mentioned a Spoonerism. Where was it, exactly?"

"Oh, right after Jerry won the game. You'd left out part of another sentence, because you went right into the words, 'fell swoop'. We knew that didn't make any sense, because there was nothing there that could have fallen or swooped. I chewed on it and then I saw what had happened. You wanted the foop to be fancy, but 'swell' seemed out of place, a little too slangy for a salon. Sally and I put our heads together, and when she suggested 'elegant', that let us finish reconstructing what you had intended all along."

I was gasping. It hurt too much to laugh and I was trying not to cry, but mostly I was squeezing the beer bottle so tightly that my whole arm hurt, just to prevent me from choking my two editors. I had almost loosened up my muscles enough to chug the rest of the beer, when Sally asked the one question that could slice right through the polite conversation that had been concealing my rage:

"By the way, just what is a foop?"