(Actually) Boiling Liz Long

So get this: last week I boiled down Liz Long's zombie story, only I didn't boil it down, I fleshed it out. (Fleshed. Zombies. Heh.)

Here's what I didn't know: Liz wrote the piece as a journal entry found in a group of artifacts from a zombie outbreak, with an unknown narrator. That throws last week's anti-boiling out the window (although I stand by it for what it was!)

This is a journal, written at a time when fecal matter and fans are getting well-entwined, and as such I imagine that it would be much, much shorter. You could probably condense it down to three or four lines that outline the meat of what happened, but I'm not going to do that. I'll treat it as the intentionally impersonal "tell not show" that it is, and focus on the language paragraph by paragraph.

So let's try this again. 497 words of zombie-apocalypse journal, boiled down starting now.

The Original:

The hospital survivors had told us the basic outline of their story already, but now they filled in the details. Radiology was the first trouble spot. Laura and Grace’s parents worked in the hospital and forced them to volunteer as Candystripers, wearing red and white (candy) striped pinafores, after everything started falling apart. It kept their whole family close together, in case anything happened, but they weren’t exactly happy campers about doing volunteer work when school wasn’t even requiring it.

As a result, they took a lot of breaks. They noticed the first problem on their way to the Radiology breakroom, which boasted the only vending machine with a selection of potato chips. Also, no one in Radiology would notice or care that they didn’t exactly ask for permission to take another break. Anyhow, as they got closer, they heard odd noises and moaning inside. The sounds worried Laura and Grace enough to peek through the doors before walking in. The bloodstained walls and odd movements of the people they saw convinced them to leave very quickly, and very, very quietly.

They wrote a warning note to put on the door, but Radiology fell apart in those few minutes and fighting was bumping up against the doors. Before leaving again, they thought ahead enough to hold the doors shut while they threaded an IV stand through the door handles. Now, nothing could escape easily. They backed quietly away and raced to find their parents. On the way, they ran into their new friend Brando. As he gathered his spilled tools, they filled him in. As they returned to the ER, Brandon went to find his dad.

On their way, the sound of bad things came from Oncology and, more faintly, the lobby bathrooms. Together, they used some tubing to quietly tie the oncology doors shut. By the time they reached their parents, Grace and Laura were terrified. Maybe that’s why their parents believed them so quickly. Laura’s stepmother and Grace’s dad started talking to charge nurses, coordinating getting people to safety, and preparing to take out the Infected if (when) they attacked.

Brando’s dad told the hospital Chief. She made an announcement that, “some departments have been closed indefinitely, including Radiology, Oncology, and Main Reception. A complete list is being sent to all staff email accounts and will be updated as needed. New admissions are suspended effective immediately.” People were smart enough to recognize that was a bad sign and started leaving – effective immediately – with their sick friends and relatives. Hardly any officially checked out before leaving. Most simply fled.

After an hour, there were a lot less people, a barricade on the hallway leading to Oncology, a small tangle in the parking lot as too many cars tried to leave at once, and another announcement. “The hospital is closing effective as soon as possible. All staff will work to expedite patient release and transfer. Everyone still living needs to exit the hospital as soon as possible.”

The Condensation:

The hospital survivors had told us the basic outline of their story already, but now they filled in the details. Radiology was the first trouble spot. Laura and Grace’s parents worked in the hospital and forced them to volunteer as Candystripers, wearing red and white (candy) striped pinafores, after everything started falling apart. It kept their whole family close together, in case anything happened, but they weren’t exactly happy campers about doing volunteer work when school wasn’t even requiring it.

As a result, they took a lot of breaks. They noticed the first problem on their way to the Radiology breakroom, which boasted the only vending machine with a selection of potato chips. Also, no one in Radiology would notice or care that they didn’t exactly ask for permission to take another break. Anyhow, as they got closer, they heard odd noises and moaning inside. The sounds worried Laura and Grace enough to peek through the doors before walking in. The bloodstained walls and odd movements of the people they saw convinced them to leave very quickly, and very, very quietly.

We learn that they're hospital employees right away, and they could hardly tell a story were they not survivors.

To tell a basic outline is to "outline." "Already" and "they" are clutter.

"Radiology was the first trouble spot" is redundant with the following paragraph, so let's boil it out.

The red and white pinafores bother me a bit. In an account of how they survived a zombie outbreak, what kind of sociopath would comment on what people were wearing, unless it was pertinent to their survival?

"As a result" = "So", and we can combine this with the previous paragraph.

We don't have to say that they noticed a problem, we can just present the problem—in the same way, we don't have to say that the Radiology vending machine was the only one with potato chips (which I find unlikely anyway), only that it had chips that served as their motivation to go there.

We can probably boil out either "odd noises" or "moaning," but they're sufficiently distinct that I'll leave them both.

That they peeked implies their worry, and if they never walk in, they don't do so "before" walking in.

We also don't need to say that what they saw convinced them, as this is obvious from their course of action. "Odd movements" is vague, perhaps too vague—it doesn't convey much of anything to the reader. Let's use "jerky movements."

To leave very quickly and very quietly is to "slink away."

They'd outlined their story, and now filled in the details. The candystripers, Laura and Grace, didn't like volunteering where their parents worked, so they took a lot of breaks. On their way to the Radiology vending machine for potato chips, they heard odd noises and moaning inside. They peeked through the doors at the bloodstained walls and jerky movements, then slunk away.

They wrote a warning note to put on the door, but Radiology fell apart in those few minutes and fighting was bumping up against the doors. Before leaving again, they thought ahead enough to hold the doors shut while they threaded an IV stand through the door handles. Now, nothing could escape easily. They backed quietly away and raced to find their parents. On the way, they ran into their new friend Brando. As he gathered his spilled tools, they filled him in. As they returned to the ER, Brandon went to find his dad.

They can't leave in the previous paragraph (much less very quickly) and write a note to put on the door. Either they leave a note first, or they skedaddle. Given what you might see in a break room full of zombies, my money's on the skedaddlin'!

They can't do things in Radiology after leaving (again), so "Before leaving again" can be boiled out. That they used the IV stand to keep the doors closed is sufficient evidence that they thought of doing so, as well.

"Now" is worse than clutter, because in a third-person journal written after the fact it doesn't make sense. Out it goes.

While we're at it, "easily" is implied—with difficulty, most people can do most things!

We either need to change the "and" to a "then," or, in keeping with my preferences, eliminate either the "backed quietly away" or the "raced." As the hurry causes Brando to spill his tools, let's boil out the former.

"On the way" is clutter. "Ran into" is too figurative—the spilled tools made me double-take the first time. How about "crashed into"?

That Brando was their new friend is also one of those details that stood out to me as extraneous in a journal about survival.

The penultimate sentence is fine as-is, but if I can be picky in a vague sort of way for a moment, I think we can make it read just a hair faster by switching the order—we lose a comma, and thus a pause, even though we don't boil out any words.

The "As" can be boiled out with no loss of content if we change "returned to" with "headed for".

Radiology fell apart. They threaded an IV stand through the doors handles so nothing could escape. They raced to find their parents, and crashed into Brando. They filled him in as he gathered his spilled tools. They headed for the ER, Brandon went to find his dad.

On their way, the sound of bad things came from Oncology and, more faintly, the lobby bathrooms. Together, they used some tubing to quietly tie the oncology doors shut. By the time they reached their parents, Grace and Laura were terrified. Maybe that’s why their parents believed them so quickly. Laura’s stepmother and Grace’s dad started talking to charge nurses, coordinating getting people to safety, and preparing to take out the Infected if (when) they attacked.

"On their way" is implied, and "the sound of bad things" are "bad sounds."

"More faintly" is another detail I don't think would make it into a third-person journal entry of this kind.

"They" implies "together", "some" is clutter, and "quietly" falls into the same category as "more faintly."

We can combine the next two sentences, and in doing so boil out about half the words contained therein. Linking the now-single sentence to the next, we can boil out the clunkily-inserted information that they're step sisters, and remove the "started [verb]ing" (which I've commented on many times in the past).

Bad sounds came from Oncology and the lobby bathrooms. They tied the oncology doors shut with tubing. Their parents reacted quickly to the girls' terrified story, coordinating with charge nurses to get people to safety and preparing to take out the Infected if (when) they attacked.

Brando’s dad told the hospital Chief. She made an announcement that, “some departments have been closed indefinitely, including Radiology, Oncology, and Main Reception. A complete list is being sent to all staff email accounts and will be updated as needed. New admissions are suspended effective immediately.” People were smart enough to recognize that was a bad sign and started leaving – effective immediately – with their sick friends and relatives. Hardly any officially checked out before leaving. Most simply fled.

"She made an announcement that"  = "who announced."

As to the announcement itself, we can boil out a few words and make it sound more like an announcement. Furthermore, a "complete list" of three departments sounds a little unnecessary. (The passive voice is exactly right; just as I choose to use passive voice for a lot of my comments on this blog, announcements are almost always made in a passive voice, so this regular no-no is a yes-yes here.)

"People were smart enough to recognize that was a bad sign" is condescending (which might be on purpose) and unnecessary. It's telling the reader something obvious, which yes, people will do in journals, but in fiction—even a fictional journal—it leaves a bad taste in the reader's mouth.

"Started leaving" is of course another "started [verb]ing", so we'll boil it out.

That hardly any checked out is telling the reader what didn't happen, which is something we want to avoid.

Brando’s dad told the hospital Chief, who announced, “The following departments are now closed: Radiology, Oncology, and Main Reception. An updated list will be emailed to all staff as needed. New admissions are suspended effective immediately.” People fled with their sick friends and relatives.

After an hour, there were a lot less people, a barricade on the hallway leading to Oncology, a small tangle in the parking lot as too many cars tried to leave at once, and another announcement. “The hospital is closing effective as soon as possible. All staff will work to expedite patient release and transfer. Everyone still living needs to exit the hospital as soon as possible.”

I'm never a fan of "there were" and "there was" type statements—any conjugation of "to be" invites further scrutiny.

"Leading to" can lose the "leading."

"A small tangle" is "a knot".

The announcement at the end clashes with itself. Staff can't "expedite patient release and transfer" (which implies paperwork) and exit the hospital "as soon as possible." Let's keep the administrative jargon, but tighten it up a bit.

An hour later, the few remaining staff had barricaded the hallway to Oncology, a knot of cars still fought to escape the parking lot, and the Chief announced, “The hospital is closing effective now. All staff will expedite patient egress. Everyone still living needs to exit the hospital as soon as possible.”

The Result:

They'd outlined their story, and now filled in the details. The candystripers, Laura and Grace, didn't like volunteering where their parents worked, so they took a lot of breaks. On their way to the Radiology vending machine for potato chips, they heard odd noises and moaning inside. They peeked through the doors at the bloodstained walls and jerky movements, then slunk away.

Radiology fell apart. They threaded an IV stand through the doors handles so nothing could escape. They raced to find their parents, and crashed into Brando. They filled him in as he gathered his spilled tools. They headed for the ER, Brandon went to find his dad.

Bad sounds came from Oncology and the lobby bathrooms. They tied the oncology doors shut with tubing. Their parents reacted quickly to the girls' terrified story, coordinating with charge nurses to get people to safety and preparing to take out the Infected if (when) they attacked.

Brando’s dad told the hospital Chief, who announced, “The following departments are now closed: Radiology, Oncology, and Main Reception. An updated list will be emailed to all staff as needed. New admissions are suspended effective immediately.” People fled with their sick friends and relatives.

An hour later, the few remaining staff had barricaded the hallway to Oncology, a knot of cars still fought to escape the parking lot, and the Chief announced, “The hospital is closing effective now. All staff will expedite patient egress. Everyone still living needs to exit the hospital as soon as possible.”

Okay, so I broke one of my own rules, again—the final passage does not contain all of the information in the original. The omissions, however, were not for the sake of brevity, but because the inclusion of that information seemed out of place for an after-the-fact, third-person journal. Were it one of the girls writing the journal I would have made different choices on what to keep and what to discard.

So with that said, the final toll is 257 from 497, a condensation of 48%. What do you think?

Anti-boiling Liz Long

This weeks' sample comes from Liz Long, who sent me a piece of in-progress zombie fiction to boil down. Mmmm...boiled zombie.... *drools*

We've got 497 words in the original; let's see what we can do with it.

The Original:

The hospital survivors had told us the basic outline of their story already, but now they filled in the details. Radiology was the first trouble spot. Laura and Grace’s parents worked in the hospital and forced them to volunteer as Candystripers, wearing red and white (candy) striped pinafores, after everything started falling apart. It kept their whole family close together, in case anything happened, but they weren’t exactly happy campers about doing volunteer work when school wasn’t even requiring it.

As a result, they took a lot of breaks. They noticed the first problem on their way to the Radiology breakroom, which boasted the only vending machine with a selection of potato chips. Also, no one in Radiology would notice or care that they didn’t exactly ask for permission to take another break. Anyhow, as they got closer, they heard odd noises and moaning inside. The sounds worried Laura and Grace enough to peek through the doors before walking in. The bloodstained walls and odd movements of the people they saw convinced them to leave very quickly, and very, very quietly.

They wrote a warning note to put on the door, but Radiology fell apart in those few minutes and fighting was bumping up against the doors. Before leaving again, they thought ahead enough to hold the doors shut while they threaded an IV stand through the door handles. Now, nothing could escape easily. They backed quietly away and raced to find their parents. On the way, they ran into their new friend Brando. As he gathered his spilled tools, they filled him in. As they returned to the ER, Brandon went to find his dad.

On their way, the sound of bad things came from Oncology and, more faintly, the lobby bathrooms. Together, they used some tubing to quietly tie the oncology doors shut. By the time they reached their parents, Grace and Laura were terrified. Maybe that’s why their parents believed them so quickly. Laura’s stepmother and Grace’s dad started talking to charge nurses, coordinating getting people to safety, and preparing to take out the Infected if (when) they attacked.

Brando’s dad told the hospital Chief. She made an announcement that, “some departments have been closed indefinitely, including Radiology, Oncology, and Main Reception. A complete list is being sent to all staff email accounts and will be updated as needed. New admissions are suspended effective immediately.” People were smart enough to recognize that was a bad sign and started leaving – effective immediately – with their sick friends and relatives. Hardly any officially checked out before leaving. Most simply fled.

After an hour, there were a lot less people, a barricade on the hallway leading to Oncology, a small tangle in the parking lot as too many cars tried to leave at once, and another announcement. “The hospital is closing effective as soon as possible. All staff will work to expedite patient release and transfer. Everyone still living needs to exit the hospital as soon as possible.”

The Condensation:

Sometimes to make good soup you have to add some meat. I'm going to do something a little different here, because in this passage the POV is terrifically muddled in a way I see a lot when I'm beta reading or skimming through a slush pile, and I think/hope that readers of this blog, and Ms. Lane, can take something away from this somewhat different exercise.

We're not sure in the first paragraph—or throughout—who the narrator is. We've got an indication that it's someone close to the situation because the hospital survivors had told "us" the basic outline of their story, but Laura and Grace are referred to in the third person, so it's not clear whether or not one (or both) of them are the narrator, or if it's someone else. Indeed, given that neither Laura nor Grace takes any action independent of the other, it gives us the feeling of an impersonal camera following them about the hospital...except that 500 words in we have no idea what they look like, how old they are (Ten? Eighteen?), or anything else about them besides their names, that they volunteer as candy stripers at the behest of their parents, and that they don't seem to act independently of one another.

The omniscience here gives a strong "tell" instead of "show" to the scene, which diffuses any sense of immediacy and robs it of its impact. For some reason I see this a lot in speculative fiction—I think (but don't know) that it's because the writer is trying to recreate the feel of a movie by choosing what I call a "cinematic POV," where the camera is on whatever action is happening at the moment...and this is, IMO, by and large a mistake. The cinematic POV is a necessity in movies, sometimes but usually not softened by a voice-over narration, but in a book it creates distance between the reader and the situation that renders flat any emotional impact.

Thus, my edits here are going to be more rewrites than a straight boiling—I'll aim for all the content, but will personalize the scene by choosing, say, Grace as the POV character, and assuming she's somewhere in her early- to mid-teens. While I'll try to keep the showing as tight as possible, it's likely to end up longer than the original sample.

This is of course a huge liberty I'm taking because this is a blog post and not a real edit, and as it's not strictly a boiling it's not what Liz signed up for when she submitted a sample. I hope she forgives me.

The hospital survivors had told us the basic outline of their story already, but now they filled in the details. Radiology was the first trouble spot. Laura and Grace’s parents worked in the hospital and forced them to volunteer as Candystripers, wearing red and white (candy) striped pinafores, after everything started falling apart. It kept their whole family close together, in case anything happened, but they weren’t exactly happy campers about doing volunteer work when school wasn’t even requiring it.

Things to convey here: Laura and Grace are sisters who reluctantly volunteer at the hospital at the behest of their employee parents, and they're headed to Radiology.

Grace smoothed down her red and white candy striper's pinafore and suppressed a shudder at the too-soft skin of the old man's wrinkled hand against her elbow. He shuffled toward Radiology like molasses, and she rolled her eyes at her sister. Laura smoothed back a lock of brown hair and tapped her wrist. Two more hours and their parents would finish their shifts, and they could head home from the hospital. This didn't even count toward community service.

As a result, they took a lot of breaks. They noticed the first problem on their way to the Radiology breakroom, which boasted the only vending machine with a selection of potato chips. Also, no one in Radiology would notice or care that they didn’t exactly ask for permission to take another break. Anyhow, as they got closer, they heard odd noises and moaning inside. The sounds worried Laura and Grace enough to peek through the doors before walking in. The bloodstained walls and odd movements of the people they saw convinced them to leave very quickly, and very, very quietly.

Things to convey: They head to the break room and...something vague convinces them to leave. (This something is indeed quite vague; that they're motivated to put a warning note on the door tells us it's serious, and I'm privy to the fact that it's a zombie novel, so likely a zombie outbreak.)

They dropped him off and cut toward the Radiology breakroom, which boasted the only vending machine with a selection of potato chips, and no one who'd care that they took another break. As Laura reached for the doorknob, an odd moan pierced the air from within. She froze, and Grace peeked over her shoulder through the small window. People jerked around like marionettes, the blood on their clothes matching that on the walls.

Grace pulled Laura's hand from the door, put a finger to her lips, and pulled her away.

They wrote a warning note to put on the door, but Radiology fell apart in those few minutes and fighting was bumping up against the doors. Before leaving again, they thought ahead enough to hold the doors shut while they threaded an IV stand through the door handles. Now, nothing could escape easily. They backed quietly away and raced to find their parents. On the way, they ran into their new friend Brando. As he gathered his spilled tools, they filled him in. As they returned to the ER, Brandon went to find his dad.

Content: warning note, run out of Radiology by unspecified bad things, run into Brando.

Laura scrawled a warning on a piece of paper and taped it to the door. Something crashed behind them. A scuffle erupted between three nurses, and a fourth shambled toward the fight with empty eyes and gnashing teeth. An agonized shriek erupted from a room on the left, and a patient stumbled out, covered in blood. They bolted out of the unit and Laura slammed the doors shut.

"Hurry." Laura dug in her feet and leaned against the door as something thudded against the other side. Grace grabbed an IV stand and jammed it through the handles. They backed away, then raced to find their parents.

They rounded the corner and Grace slammed into somebody. She stumbled back and looked into the shocked eyes of their new friend Brando.

"Holy crap." Grace knelt to help him pick up his spilled tools. "We need to get out of here. Radiology's gone crazy."

"Oh?" he said.

"Seriously. People are fighting, killing each other."

He looked at her hard for a moment, then nodded. "I need to find my dad."

He took off, so they dashed to the ER.

On their way, the sound of bad things came from Oncology and, more faintly, the lobby bathrooms. Together, they used some tubing to quietly tie the oncology doors shut. By the time they reached their parents, Grace and Laura were terrified. Maybe that’s why their parents believed them so quickly. Laura’s stepmother and Grace’s dad started talking to charge nurses, coordinating getting people to safety, and preparing to take out the Infected if (when) they attacked.

Content: they secure the Oncology doors, then tell their parents, who take charge.

Someone screamed in Oncology, a defiant holler that ended in piteous wailing. Laura pulled surgical tubing from an abandoned gurney, and they tied the doors shut. Wet tearing sounds and heavy breathing came from the lobby bathroom; they snuck by.

In the ER, they rushed their parents and wrapped them in panicked hugs. Shaking and sobbing, Grace just managed to tell them what they'd seen. Her mom barked orders to charge nurses, securing patients and barricading doors. Dad hefted a broom handle and lined up at the door with a few other men.

Brando’s dad told the hospital Chief. She made an announcement that, “some departments have been closed indefinitely, including Radiology, Oncology, and Main Reception. A complete list is being sent to all staff email accounts and will be updated as needed. New admissions are suspended effective immediately.” People were smart enough to recognize that was a bad sign and started leaving – effective immediately – with their sick friends and relatives. Hardly any officially checked out before leaving. Most simply fled.

After an hour, there were a lot less people, a barricade on the hallway leading to Oncology, a small tangle in the parking lot as too many cars tried to leave at once, and another announcement. “The hospital is closing effective as soon as possible. All staff will work to expedite patient release and transfer. Everyone still living needs to exit the hospital as soon as possible.”

Content: The announcement triggers an exodus. (That Brando's dad told the hospital Chief is a POV glitch in this re-write, as from Grace's POV she couldn't know that for certain.) Without belaboring the activity, the exodus can likely remain a tell.

The PA system beeped, and a woman's voice rang out. “Radiology, Oncology, and Main Reception are closed indefinitely. A list of closed departments is being emailed to all staff and will be updated as needed. New admissions are suspended effective immediately.”

Visitors rushed the exits, dragging sick loved ones with them where they could. Some abandoned their kin in the waiting room, and a few employees left with them. An hour later, they'd barricaded the hallway to Oncology, and tried to ignore the tangle of cars trying to exit the parking lot. The PA rang again. “The hospital is closing. All staff will work to expedite patient release and transfer. Everyone still living needs to exit the hospital as soon as possible.”

The Result:

Grace smoothed down her red and white candy striper's pinafore and suppressed a shudder at the too-soft skin of the old man's wrinkled hand against her elbow. He shuffled toward Radiology like molasses, and she rolled her eyes at her sister. Laura smoothed back a lock of brown hair and tapped her wrist. Two more hours and their parents would finish their shifts, and they could head home from the hospital. This didn't even count toward community service.

They dropped him off and cut toward the Radiology breakroom, which boasted the only vending machine with a selection of potato chips, and no one who'd care that they took another break. As Laura reached for the doorknob, an odd moan pierced the air from within. She froze, and Grace peeked over her shoulder through the small window. People jerked around like marionettes, the blood on their clothes matching that on the walls.

Grace pulled Laura's hand from the door, put a finger to her lips, and pulled her away.

Laura scrawled a warning on a piece of paper and taped it to the door. Something crashed behind them. A scuffle erupted between three nurses, and a fourth shambled toward the fight with empty eyes and gnashing teeth. An agonized shriek erupted from a room on the left, and a patient stumbled out, covered in blood. They bolted out of the unit and Laura slammed the doors shut.

"Hurry." Laura dug in her feet and leaned against the door as something thudded against the other side. Grace grabbed an IV stand and jammed it through the handles. They backed away, then raced to find their parents.

They rounded the corner and Grace slammed into somebody. She stumbled back and looked into the shocked eyes of their new friend Brando.

"Holy crap." Grace knelt to help him pick up his spilled tools. "We need to get out of here. Radiology's gone crazy."

"Oh?" he said.

"Seriously. People are fighting, killing each other."

He looked at her hard for a moment, then nodded. "I need to find my dad."

He took off, so they dashed to the ER.

Someone screamed in Oncology, a defiant holler that ended in piteous wailing. Laura pulled surgical tubing from an abandoned gurney, and they tied the doors shut. Wet tearing sounds and heavy breathing came from the lobby bathroom; they snuck by.

In the ER, they rushed their parents and wrapped them in panicked hugs. Shaking and sobbing, Grace just managed to tell them what they'd seen. Her mom barked orders to charge nurses, securing patients and barricading doors. Dad hefted a broom handle and lined up at the door with a few other men.

The PA system beeped, and a woman's voice rang out. “Radiology, Oncology, and Main Reception are closed indefinitely. A list of closed departments is being emailed to all staff and will be updated as needed. New admissions are suspended effective immediately.”

Visitors rushed the exits, dragging sick loved ones with them where they could. Some abandoned their kin in the waiting room, and a few employees left with them. An hour later, they'd barricaded the hallway to Oncology, and tried to ignore the tangle of cars trying to exit the parking lot. The PA rang again. “The hospital is closing. All staff will work to expedite patient release and transfer. Everyone still living needs to exit the hospital as soon as possible.”

569 from 497, an increase of 14%. I can't help but think that in this case, it isn't enough, but I don't have the time to do more.

The action here is understated and vague; the matter-of-fact statement of the noise in oncology and the subsequent tying of the doors could be elaborated into a truly creepy, heart-stopping scene of its own, instead of a perfunctory action on the way to the ER; the initial scene outside the break room could shatter the bored, carefree world of the teenaged protagonist(s) with sudden realization and dread and uncertainty; without a single shot of gore, the barricade and evacuation of the ER could be a deeply personal, gut-wrenching tragedy of panicked people either abandoning or refusing to abandon those they'd brought there.

What do you think, dear reader, of this week's anti-boiling?

Boiling Cheryl Stewart

This week's boiling comes from Cheryl Stewart, a long-time friend who has never much thought about writing for publication, or even for public consumption. She volunteered as Word Soup victim with 518 words of a story entitled Victoria Livingstone and the Fey of Fairmount Park. Normally I cut things off rather ruthlessly the sentence before 500 words, but I still want her to like me when I'm done with this, so I left in the rest of the final paragraph.

It's teenager-conversational in tone, first person with an inner monologue reminiscent of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Let's see what we can do with it!

The Original:

Fear.  Paralyzing fear.

I was 13.  Our family often came to Fairmount Park to walk about the gardens and seasonal art displays.  This particular August afternoon, my sister was in a snit from some perceived slight I had imposed upon her.  Apparently she didn’t want Mom and Dad to know that she lets her boyfriend up in her bedroom when they’re not home.  Whatever!

It was late in the afternoon that August Saturday, and our parents needed to attend the opening of a new light-based art exhibit in the park from some new up-and-coming they were sponsoring.  Mom and Dad were letting the artist fawn all over them in his over-the-top gratitude, Chelsea was showing off her newest $200 Coach wristlet to some other girls while trying to sneak champagne, and I was… well… There.

I was bored.  Bored, bored, bored.  While walking around aimlessly and waiting for dusk to arrive so we could get this event over with, my sister motioned to me to come over to her and her friends.  I can’t believe I actually went over there.

“Ya know what I heard about this park?” Chelsea asked.

I eyed her warily.  “Uh, no.”

“Auntie Amy told me once that there are fairies living in the woods in this park.”  She gestured blandly to her left.  “They come out at night.  Do you think she’s nuts or what?”

“Don’t say mean things about Auntie!”

“Sheesh!  Sensitive much?”  She turned to her friends and they all giggled.

I scowled at Chelsea and stalked away from the lot of them.

Auntie Amy is by far my favorite relative.  She understands me and accepts me for who I am.  She doesn’t get all uppity just because we have money.  I love listening to her stories and legends of fairies and monsters and other creatures.  She makes it sound like it could really be real.

I was meandering off towards the woods while thinking about this, figuring that at least I could get away from that horrid event.  Mom and Dad were oblivious to my absence.  Big shocker there.

I started picking my way through a small expanse of woods.  The vegetation was tall, thick, and seemed full of mystery and life.  I didn’t notice the lights come on at the long forgotten art exhibit, nor did I hear the appreciative applause.  I thought I saw movement and twinkling up ahead.  As I pursued it, I could swear I heard faint laughter.  I was oblivious to the rapidly darkening sky and the disappearing gardens.

All of a sudden I realized that I was lost.  I thought I had been following a path, but when I looked back, the path was gone. 

Whooooosh!  Something flew past my head!

I panicked.  Stupidly, I ran further into the woods. 

Zzzzzzzzooooomm!  Something else whizzed by and brushed past my arm.  I yelped, then stopped and crouched behind a tree.  Peeking around, I saw a mesmerizing sight.  Up ahead was a clearing full of small, brightly-colored figures dancing around and laughing.  I was frozen to that spot, transfixed by what was laid out before me.

The Condensation:

Fear.  Paralyzing fear.

I was 13.  Our family often came to Fairmount Park to walk about the gardens and seasonal art displays.  This particular August afternoon, my sister was in a snit from some perceived slight I had imposed upon her.  Apparently she didn’t want Mom and Dad to know that she lets her boyfriend up in her bedroom when they’re not home.  Whatever!

The fact that the narrator is thirteen doesn't fit with the rest of the paragraph, so I'm going to find another place to squeeze that piece of information in.

The fact that it's her family becomes apparent from the rest of the passage, so we can change that we "We".

One can hardly walk through gardens and art displays without going to a place, so let's boil out "came to."

"Particular" is clutter—it gives an old-timey sort of feel that jars with "whatever" at the end of the paragraph—and otherwise this sentence can combine with the next.

"Was in a snit" is "threw a snit."

Readers of this blog will know that I'm not a fan of adverbs, but only because I'm a fan of every word needing justification for its existence. In this case, the "apparently" conveys a sort of disdainful siblinghood quite well.

We can boil out "up" from "up in her." "Whatever" I'm ambivalent about—it conveys a very modern teenager like no other word can, but if anything it's a little passé. At least in my experience, kids don't say it nearly as often as they used to. In this case, we'll leave it.

Fear. Paralyzing fear.

We often walked about the Fairmount Park gardens and seasonal art displays. This August afternoon, my sister threw a snit because apparently she didn’t want Mom and Dad to know that she lets her boyfriend in her bedroom when they’re not home. Whatever!

It was late in the afternoon that August Saturday, and our parents needed to attend the opening of a new light-based art exhibit in the park from some new up-and-coming they were sponsoring.  Mom and Dad were letting the artist fawn all over them in his over-the-top gratitude, Chelsea was showing off her newest $200 Coach wristlet to some other girls while trying to sneak champagne, and I was… well… There.

We already know it's afternoon, August, and a park.

Instead of "needed to attend," let's make it something more active—and add some characterization in the process by making it, "dragged us to."

Openings are "new," so we can boil that out—twice, because up-and-comers are "new" as well. While we're at it, "were sponsoring" = "sponsored."

"Were letting" = "let," and as it's obvious that "the artist" is "him" we can make it so, and in the process boil out "his."

"Was showing off" = "showed off."

In "some other girls", either "some" or "other" is clutter—but come to think of it, the detail is sufficiently irrelevant that we can boil out the whole phrase.

Instead of saying "I was there," even though it's meant to be bland, we can convey exactly the same sentiment with "waited," especially if we keep the ellipsis. [NOTE: In retrospect, I think "killed time" works better, so I changed it again.]

(As an aside, ellipses need no spaces on either side of them. Something else I'm fixing on my way through is two spaces between sentences, as that's something publishers by and large do not want to see. Yes, that means your English teacher taught you "wrong.")

This Saturday our parents dragged us to the opening of a light-based art exhibit from some up-and-coming they sponsored. Mom and Dad let him fawn all over them in over-the-top gratitude, Chelsea showed off her newest $200 Coach wristlet while trying to sneak champagne, and I…killed time.

I was bored.  Bored, bored, bored.  While walking around aimlessly and waiting for dusk to arrive so we could get this event over with, my sister motioned to me to come over to her and her friends.  I can’t believe I actually went over there.

Here's a good place to put in her age.

"Bored, bored, bored" has a charm to it, but not enough of one to justify four "bored"s in one paragraph.

"Walking around aimlessly" is "wandered," "for dusk to arrive" = "for dusk," and "get this event over with" is already sufficiently ingrained in the character's actions that we can safely replace it with "go home."

"Motioned me to come over" is "waved me over," and we already know she's with friends (or at least people she'd show off her wristlet to.)

To avoid the echo on "over", let's change "I actually went over there" to "I went."

Thirteen and so bored, I wandered and waited for dusk so we could go home. My sister waved me over. I can’t believe I went.

“Ya know what I heard about this park?” Chelsea asked.

I eyed her warily.  “Uh, no.”

“Auntie Amy told me once that there are fairies living in the woods in this park.”  She gestured blandly to her left.  “They come out at night.  Do you think she’s nuts or what?”

“Don’t say mean things about Auntie!”

“Sheesh!  Sensitive much?”  She turned to her friends and they all giggled.

I scowled at Chelsea and stalked away from the lot of them.

As a general rule, one should avoid misspellings in order to convey dialect except under extreme circumstances (such as Stephen King's use of "Ayuh" for "yes" in Maine.) People who read this will mentally say, "ya know" when they read "you know". Word choice should carry dialect as much as possible...and if we want to reinforce the teenagerly informality, boil out the "you."

I'm not in love with "eyed her warily," but I don't know a word that would replace it. "Squinted" isn't quite right.

We can boil out "once that there are" if we chance "living" to "live," and "in this park" is redundant because she already said, "about this park."

"She gestured blandly" tells the reader almost nothing. What kind of gesture? What made it bland? Were this an edit instead of a blog boiling, I'd leave the comment for the author and let them come up with something. Instead, I'm going to invent a solution.

As "Do you think she's nuts or what?" is a rhetorical question, and Chelsea clearly doesn't care what our protagonist thinks, let's change "Do you think she's" to "Is she."

"Sensitive much?" is such a great conveyance of attitude that I don't think we need the "Sheesh!"

"and they all giggled" can become "who giggled"...though it's worth noting at this point that we have no idea how many friends are involved here. How many girls are "some" girls? Two? Three? Seventy-four? Perhaps we should revisit above, when Chelsea waves her over.

"At Chelsea" and "from the lot of them" are both unneeded.

“Know what I heard about this park?” Chelsea asked.

I eyed her warily. “Uh, no.”

“Auntie Amy told me fairies live in the woods.” She rolled her head left. “They come out at night. Is she nuts or what?”

“Don’t say mean things about Auntie!”

“Sensitive much?” She turned to her friends, who giggled.

I scowled and stalked away.

Auntie Amy is by far my favorite relative.  She understands me and accepts me for who I am.  She doesn’t get all uppity just because we have money.  I love listening to her stories and legends of fairies and monsters and other creatures.  She makes it sound like it could really be real.

Let's combine the first two sentences. Accepting someone for who they are cannot occur without understanding, so let's boil that out.

The now-second sentence tells us something that doesn't happen—always a good indicator that boiling can commence! ...and yet, when I try to get rid of the "doesn't", nothing I can come up with filled the void. Even so, we can squeeze out a few words with a rephrase, and combine it with the first sentence.

"Listening to" is clutter, as is "and legends"—and while "and monsters and other creatures" is a bit on the cluttered side, I think it's appropriate for the narrator's voice, so let's leave it.

The last sentence can benefit from changing the first "it" to "them" and boiling out everything between "sound" and "real."

By far my favorite relative, Auntie Amy accepts me for who I am, and doesn't let money make her uppity. I love her stories of fairies and monsters and other creatures. She makes them sound real.

I was meandering off towards the woods while thinking about this, figuring that at least I could get away from that horrid event.  Mom and Dad were oblivious to my absence.  Big shocker there.

I started picking my way through a small expanse of woods.  The vegetation was tall, thick, and seemed full of mystery and life.  I didn’t notice the lights come on at the long forgotten art exhibit, nor did I hear the appreciative applause.  I thought I saw movement and twinkling up ahead.  As I pursued it, I could swear I heard faint laughter.  I was oblivious to the rapidly darkening sky and the disappearing gardens.

Any construction of "was [verb]ing" invites further scrutiny—we can almost always lose the "was" by changing the "ing" to "ed."

"Off towards" can lose the "off," and "towards" should lose the "s". It's not wrong, but there are some especially in editor circles who are annoyed by "towards," "backwards," and so forth, but nobody is annoyed by "toward," "backward," etc.

"While thinking about this" is redundant with the fact that she's thinking about this.

"Figuring that at least I could" = "to", "get away from" = "escape".

That Mom and Dad were oblivious is a POV glitch—she can't read her parents' minds, though she may often think she can. Either way, that's a big tell instead of a show, and we already know they're busy letting the artist fawn all over them...so let's boil it out.

So now that we're down to one sentence, let's combine it with the next paragraph.

"Started [verb]ing" and its cousin "began to" should only ever be used if it's important to the plot that the event in question is interrupted. A small expanse of woods is a copse, woods are comprised of trees which are tall, "was" is an evil verb, and "seemed" is poison—from a narrator's POV, anything that seems, is. How about, "The thick vegetation embraced me with its mystery and life."

Not noticing and not hearing violate three tenets of fiction writing: One, they're telling what didn't happen, two, they're using sensory verbs, and three, they're POV glitches. From her POV, anything she doesn't notice or sense doesn't happen.

"I thought I saw" is another double-whammy. "I thought" is equivalent to "seemed," and "I saw" is never necessary. "I could swear I heard" is the same construction, with the same flaws.

The final sentence is again something she's oblivious to, so we need to either make it something she notices, or boil it out.

I meandered toward the woods to escape that horrid event. The thick vegetation embraced me with its mystery and life. Something twinkled up ahead. I pursued it to faint laughter.

All of a sudden I realized that I was lost.  I thought I had been following a path, but when I looked back, the path was gone.

This is a tell that could be a show, and will convey the obliviousness stated in the previous paragraph. Let's try something like this:

I stopped, and recognized nothing in the fading light. No path, no party, not even a glimpse of the manor lights.

Whooooosh!  Something flew past my head!

I panicked.  Stupidly, I ran further into the woods. 

Zzzzzzzzooooomm!  Something else whizzed by and brushed past my arm.  I yelped, then stopped and crouched behind a tree.  Peeking around, I saw a mesmerizing sight.  Up ahead was a clearing full of small, brightly-colored figures dancing around and laughing.  I was frozen to that spot, transfixed by what was laid out before me.

Two things to use sparingly if at all: onomatopoeia and exclamation points.

While running through thick vegetation, one should experience more than one thing whizzing by and brushing past one's arm—one should be barraged by branches and other such things.

The yelp should go with the thing brushing her arm, letting us boil out a few words.

One can hardly crouch behind a tree without stopping.

"I saw" can go.

"Up ahead" is clutter, and "was a clearing" has to go.

"Frozen to the spot" can lose "to the spot", and we can boil out everything after "transfixed."

Something whizzed past my head. I crashed through the branches in blind panic, and yelped when something tugged my sleeve. I crouched behind a tree. A light mesmerized me. Small, brightly-colored figures danced around a clearing, laughing.  I froze, transfixed.

The Result:

Fear. Paralyzing fear.

We often walked about the Fairmount Park gardens and seasonal art displays. This August afternoon, my sister threw a snit because apparently she didn’t want Mom and Dad to know that she lets her boyfriend in her bedroom when they’re not home. Whatever!

This Saturday our parents dragged us to the opening of a light-based art exhibit from some up-and-coming they sponsored. Mom and Dad let him fawn all over them in over-the-top gratitude, Chelsea showed off her newest $200 Coach wristlet while trying to sneak champagne, and I…killed time.

Thirteen and so bored, I wandered and waited for dusk so we could go home. My sister waved me over. I can’t believe I went.

“Know what I heard about this park?” Chelsea asked.

I eyed her warily. “Uh, no.”

“Auntie Amy told me fairies live in the woods.” She rolled her head left. “They come out at night. Is she nuts or what?”

“Don’t say mean things about Auntie!”

“Sensitive much?” She turned to her friends, who giggled.

I scowled and stalked away.

By far my favorite relative, Auntie Amy accepts me for who I am, and doesn't let money make her uppity. I love her stories of fairies and monsters and other creatures. She makes them sound real.

I meandered toward the woods to escape that horrid event. The thick vegetation embraced me with its mystery and life. Something twinkled up ahead. I pursued it to faint laughter.

I stopped, and recognized nothing in the fading light. No path, no party, not even a glimpse of the manor lights.

Something whizzed past my head. I crashed through the branches in blind panic, and yelped when something tugged my sleeve. I crouched behind a tree. A light mesmerized me. Small, brightly-colored figures danced around a clearing, laughing.  I froze, transfixed.

304 words, down from 518, a condensation of 41%. What do you think?