Shhh.... Boiling a Librarian with Hillary Dodge

This week's guest is Hillary Dodge, The Horror Librarian. I met Hillary at BEA in New York City this past spring, and it's exciting as all get out to see a librarian focused on the horror genre. (We also ate some killer Italian food at a hole in the wall not too far from Penn Station.) She's offered up her first draft of Suffer the Little Children, a creepy short story, from which I've taken the first 501 words.

You can find Hillary's excellent blog here.

The Original:

I wake in the dark.

“Catherine,” he calls. 

“Yes?”  I turn over.  He is standing in the doorway, his dark form blocking the light from the moon.

“There’s something wrong.”  He says.

I sit up in a surge of panic.  Has it happened already?  I took the test before he’d let me go to bed.  Maybe the results were in.  Maybe he didn’t like what it said.

“What’s wrong?”  I ask slowly, fear putting an edge to my voice.

“You’ll have to see for yourself.”  He steps into the room and takes my arm, helping me out of bed.  “Come on.”

He leads me out of the dark room and down the hall.  His house is vast and I feel small.  He takes me up the back stairs, the only ones that I am allowed to use, and leads me down another hall.  As we near the bathroom, I begin to shake.  He stops and turns me in the slivers of moonlight.  He looks at my face.

“Can you feel it?” he asks.

I don’t know how to answer.  “I’m not sure.”

“You’ll see in a minute,” he promises. 

As we pass the bathroom, I feel a strange tingle of relief.  Maybe it isn’t what I think. But then he opens a door at the end of the hall and the panic returns.  We are going into his workshop. 

“You can see it best from up here.”  I don’t understand what his words mean.  Clearly it had happened, what I fear most, and now I was going into his workshop for the last time.

He pulls me into the rickety stairwell.  In former years, the attic had been the servants’ quarters.  He closes the door quietly behind us and leads the way up the stairs.  At the top, he pushes open the door that is always locked and takes me inside.  I have only been inside the workshop once on the night he first brought me here.  That was probably four years ago.  At the time, I hadn’t understood what the workshop meant.  I do now. 

He kept the room meticulously clean, every surface spotless and every corner well-lit.  There were two tall cabinets along the east wall.  These contain the tools.  In the center of the room beside a specially designed drain grill, is the long table. 

But he pulls me past the table and towards the small window set low on the wall.  I have to kneel down to look out.  He takes a few steps back.

“Keep looking,” he instructs.  “You’ll see it soon.”

I nod and watch.  I feel the seconds tick by.  Outside, the moonlight glitters in the fog that enshrouds the farm.  I don’t understand what he wants me to look for.  I wait, eyes scanning the trees at the edge of the forest. 

“Have you seen it yet?” he asks suddenly close behind me again.  I feel his breath on my neck.  It is hot but different somehow. 

I shake my head.  “Not yet.”

The Condensation:

I wake in the dark.

“Catherine,” he calls.

“Yes?”  I turn over.  He is standing in the doorway, his dark form blocking the light from the moon.

“There’s something wrong.”  He says.

Speech attributions are rarely necessary in a scene with only two people.

We can boil down the descriptive sentence by combining his location with the consequence of his standing there. Note that this follows the general principle that conjugations of "to be" should invite further scrutiny when it comes to boiling.

"light from the moon" = "moonlight".

I wake in the dark.

“Catherine.”

“Yes?” I turn over.  His dark form blocks the moonlight through the doorway.

“There’s something wrong.”


I sit up in a surge of panic.  Has it happened already?  I took the test before he’d let me go to bed.  Maybe the results were in.  Maybe he didn’t like what it said.

“What’s wrong?”  I ask slowly, fear putting an edge to my voice.

“You’ll have to see for yourself.”  He steps into the room and takes my arm, helping me out of bed.  “Come on.”

The rhetorical question isn't necessary here, because we already know she's afraid and anticipates something. The naked question doesn't give the reader any new information, so out it boils.

We can combine the maybes, because he could hardly dislike results that hadn't come in yet.

By moving the fear up, we put it front and center for the reader. Slowly is a Tom Swiftly adverb (see the Turkey City Lexicon), so out it boils. This allows the short, concise question to stand on its own, thus giving it more impact.

There's an echo here on "wrong", so I'm going to change "What's wrong?" to "What is it?"

I sit up in a surge of panic.  I took the test before he’d let me go to bed.  Maybe he didn’t like the results. Fear put an edge to my voice.

“What is it?”

“You’ll have to see for yourself.”  He steps into the room and takes my arm, helping me out of bed.  “Come on.”


He leads me out of the dark room and down the hall.  His house is vast and I feel small.  He takes me up the back stairs, the only ones that I am allowed to use, and leads me down another hall.  As we near the bathroom, I begin to shake.  He stops and turns me in the slivers of moonlight.  He looks at my face.

We already know it's a dark room, and he can hardly lead her down the hall without leading her out, so we can leave this as implied.

It's only one word, but we can boil out the "and" by making the next sentence more active.

"I am" = "I'm". Judicious use of contractions help keeps prose from becoming stilted.

"Takes me" renders the second "leads me" boilable.

"Shake" is a little vague, so let's change it to "tremble". "I begin" is in the same category as "started to"--unless it's important that the action is interrupted, it's clutter.

As a side note, there are a lot of indications here of utter subservience and domination without saying it outright, which is well done. (I've read the rest of the story, and it's important!)

He leads me down the hall.  I feel small in his vast house.  He takes me up the back stairs, the only ones that I'm allowed to use, and down another hall.  I tremble as we near the bathroom.  He stops and turns me in the slivers of moonlight.  He looks at my face.


“Can you feel it?” he asks.

I don’t know how to answer.  “I’m not sure.”

“You’ll see in a minute,” he promises. 

Boil out the speech attributions, and avoid telling the reader what doesn't happen.

“Can you feel it?”

I hesitate.  “I’m not sure.”

“You’ll see in a minute.” 


As we pass the bathroom, I feel a strange tingle of relief.  Maybe it isn’t what I think. But then he opens a door at the end of the hall and the panic returns.  We are going into his workshop. 

"I feel" is a strong indication that you're showing instead of telling, and while sometimes that's fine, in general it makes prose more dynamic if you avoid tells.

"But then" is clutter--sequentiality is implied.

"The panic returns" is a tell as well. It's not bad, but perhaps we could change it to a show.

We already know they're going, and by making the final sentence as short as possible you reinforce the importance of it.

My skin tingles in relief as we pass the bathroom.  Maybe it isn’t what I think. He opens a door at the end of the hall and my throat tightens.  His workshop. 


“You can see it best from up here.”  I don’t understand what his words mean.  Clearly it had happened, what I fear most, and now I was going into his workshop for the last time.

"what his words mean" is clutter, as is "clearly" and "now".

"going into" = "entering"

“You can see it best from up here.”  I don’t understand.  It had happened, what I fear most, and I was entering his workshop for the last time.


He pulls me into the rickety stairwell.  In former years, the attic had been the servants’ quarters.  He closes the door quietly behind us and leads the way up the stairs.  At the top, he pushes open the door that is always locked and takes me inside.  I have only been inside the workshop once on the night he first brought me here.  That was probably four years ago.  At the time, I hadn’t understood what the workshop meant.  I do now. 

The adverb "quietly" can go--if it's important that it's quiet, change the rather bland "closes" to something that emphasizes the quiet. "He eases the door closed" or simply, "He shuts the door".

"leads the way up the stairs" = "leads me upstairs".

"that is" = "that's", and "and takes me inside" is clutter.

"I have" = "I've", and we can combine these next two sentences.

We can boil out the first "the workshop" to avoid the echo.

"I do now" is redundant with "At the time".

He pulls me into the rickety stairwell.  In former years, the attic had been the servants’ quarters.  He shuts the door behind us and leads me upstairs.  At the top, he pushes open the door that's always locked.  I've only been inside once, on that first night maybe four years ago.  At the time, I hadn’t understood what the workshop meant. 


He kept the room meticulously clean, every surface spotless and every corner well-lit.  There were two tall cabinets along the east wall.  These contain the tools.  In the center of the room beside a specially designed drain grill, is the long table. 

But he pulls me past the table and towards the small window set low on the wall.  I have to kneel down to look out.  He takes a few steps back.

“Keep looking,” he instructs.  “You’ll see it soon.”

Boil out the adverb, and as corners are made of surfaces, we can boil that out, too. On a re-read, we can boil out "the room clean" as well.

"There were" and "these contain" are clutter. "The tools" gives them a creepier vibe that "his tools" or just "tools" doesn't, so despite it just being a simple "the", it's importance in ambiance keeps it in.

Boil out "is" by choosing a better verb. "specially designed" = "custom", and while these changes only boiled out two words, I hope you'll agree that they make the sentence more engaging.

In the next paragraph, "the table" is clutter.

Oddly enough, "towards", "backwards", and so forth bug the crap out of some people, while "toward" and "backward" do not. Both are technically correct, so pick the one that doesn't annoy some people...only in this case, he doesn't just pull her toward it, he pulls her to it.

"have to" is clutter, as is "down". (One never kneels up!)

By putting his action (from which "take a few" is clutter)

He kept every surface spotless and well-lit.  Two tall cabinets along the east wall held the tools.  The long table dominated the center of the room beside a custom drain grill. 

But he pulls me past, to the small window set low on the wall.  I kneel to look out. 

He steps back. “Keep looking. You’ll see it soon.”


I nod and watch.  I feel the seconds tick by.  Outside, the moonlight glitters in the fog that enshrouds the farm.  I don’t understand what he wants me to look for.  I wait, eyes scanning the trees at the edge of the forest. 

"and watch" is redundant with scanning the trees.

"I feel" is clutter, as is almost every statement that time passes. The fact that she has time to mentally comment on the fog and moonlight tells us that time ticks by.

Of course fog happens outside, and "that enshrouds" = "enshrouding".

In the next sentence, we can boil out "he wants me to" if we change "understand" to "know".

She's not waiting, she's scanning, so "I wait" should boil out.

"eyes" is clutter.

Forests are made of trees, so we can boil that out, too.

I nod.  Moonlight glitters in the fog enshrouding the farm.  I don’t know what to look for.  I scan the edge of the forest.


“Have you seen it yet?” he asks suddenly close behind me again.  I feel his breath on my neck.  It is hot but different somehow.

I shake my head.  “Not yet.”

He has to be close behind her again if she can feel his breath on her neck, "I feel" is clutter, and by boiling it out we can combine this sentence with the next.

On a side note, reading the rest of the story, we never get any indication of why his breath would be somehow different, or what that even means. As such, I believe it serves as a distraction. So I'm going to invoke blogger's prerogative and break my own rules by cutting it, even though I pledge to leave content alone. This is one of those situations where, were I doing a real edit for publication, I'd have a discussion with the author about the intent of the phrase, and whether it should be expanded upon or eliminated.

“Have you seen it yet?” His breath warms my neck. 

I shake my head.  “Not yet.”

The Result:

I wake in the dark. 

“Catherine.” 

“Yes?” I turn over.  His dark form blocks the moonlight through the doorway. 

“There’s something wrong.” 

I sit up in a surge of panic.  I took the test before he’d let me go to bed.  Maybe he didn’t like the results. Fear put an edge to my voice. “What is it?” 

“You’ll have to see for yourself.”  He steps into the room and takes my arm, helping me out of bed.  “Come on.” 

He leads me down the hall.  I feel small in his vast house.  He takes me up the back stairs, the only ones that I'm allowed to use, and down another hall.  I tremble as we near the bathroom.  He stops and turns me in the slivers of moonlight.  He looks at my face. 

“Can you feel it?” 

I hesitate.  “I’m not sure.” 

“You’ll see in a minute.”   

My skin tingles in relief as we pass the bathroom.  Maybe it isn’t what I think. He opens a door at the end of the hall and my throat tightens.  His workshop.  

“You can see it best from up here.”  I don’t understand.  It had happened, what I fear most, and I was entering his workshop for the last time. 

He pulls me into the rickety stairwell.  In former years, the attic had been the servants’ quarters.  He shuts the door behind us and leads me upstairs.  At the top, he pushes open the door that's always locked.  I've only been inside once, on that first night maybe four years ago.  At the time, I hadn’t understood what the workshop meant.  

He kept every surface spotless and well-lit.  Two tall cabinets along the east wall held the tools.  The long table dominated the center of the room beside a custom drain grill.  

But he pulls me past, to the small window set low on the wall.  I kneel to look out.  

He steps back. “Keep looking. You’ll see it soon.” 

I nod.  Moonlight glitters in the fog enshrouding the farm.  I don’t know what to look for.  I scan the edge of the forest.  

“Have you seen it yet?” His breath warms my neck.  

I shake my head.  “Not yet.”

So, 367 words down from 501, a 27% boiling. What do you think?

Soup from a Student with Ben Case

Ben Case is a former physics student of mine who's now venturing into writing in the fantasy/science fiction genres. He's offered up 503 words of his short story, Grym, for us to boil down.

The Original:

Hours dragged by and the day's sun was beginning to set. Chief Garuun had shown off his son in front of all the Hunters in the Black Sun camp. Many admonished how strong he was and shared the belief that he would become a strong and mighty warrior, like his fathers before him.

The mammoth was roasted up along with other savory meats that had been prepared by the tribeswomen. Naalah looked as though most of her strength had returned, as she was dressed and present at her mates side at the feast.

Bloodwine flowed out of the drinking horns almost as soon as it was poured. Some of the hunters beat their war drums to make music for the celebration. Dancers spun around each other in front of the bonfire. They danced for the son of the Chief.

Garuun and Naalah kissed, his mate biting down viciously on his lower lip, and drawing black blood, which only enticed the Chieftain for more. The small family was overjoyed and in the best of spirits, until the celebration was interrupted.

A scream coming from a female member of the tribe. The music and dancing cut out as the celebration came to a hault. The red skinned Orc came stumbling forward, she was holding her stomach which was bleeding with an arrow protruding from her abdomen. She stumbled to the center of the crowd of Orcs who made way for. The female uttered something incomprehensible and looked around hysterically. She looked up at Chief Garuun who bolted upright from his seat.

The female collapsed on her side and faded away into death's grip, her violet eyes glassing over as her last breath escaped her. Another loud roar came from within the crowd. It was the females mate. He picked up her limp body and tapped her cold cheek with his palm to wake her. Nothing happened. Her mate began to shake her crazily, still nothing happened. He gave up and buried his face in the females stomach. He yanked the arrow out and wiped away the black blood to expose a silver point. Steel. He turned to Garuun, held up the weapon and let out a blood curdling scream. Steel was used by Humans over the Reach. This was a deliberate attack against the tribe.

More arrows began to fall out of the sky. Orcs fled for shelter and weapons. Garuun was struck in the shoulder with a steel arrow. The chieftain pulled it out and snapped it between his fingers, a small trickle of blood running down his arm. He used his body as a shield to allow Naalah and the child to run.

The three of them made it back to their long tent. Garuun went into his battle chest and quickly threw on his light armor and picked up his axes. He got his tiger saddled and placed Naalah in the seat. The Mistress had her child in a sling across her chest. Garuun looked up one last time at his mate.

The Condensation:

Hours dragged by and the day's sun was beginning to set. Chief Garuun had displayed his son to the Hunters in the Black Sun camp. Many admonished how strong he was and shared the belief that he would become a strong and mighty warrior, like his fathers before him.

The first sentence can combine with the second. My usual objection to "beginning to" applies here--unless it's important that the action in question is interrupted, the fact that it began is no more informative than the fact that it's happening.

"had shown off" = "displayed", "in front of all" = "to"...and "Hunters" shouldn't be capitalized. (Unless it's a proper name for the group.)

I have to admonish you here, because you meant "admired", not "admonished".

"Many" = "They", "how strong he was" = "the boy's strength"...which is redundant with "strong and mighty". We should change "the belief" to "their belief", to better solidify that they are sharing this belief with the chief.

Finally, as we learn later that the members of the Black Sun camp aren't human, I think we need to say so right away.

As the sun set, Chief Garuun displayed his son to the orc hunters in the Black Sun camp. They admired the boy's strength and shared their belief that he would become a mighty warrior like his fathers before him.

The mammoth was roasted up along with other savory meats that had been prepared by the tribeswomen. Naalah looked as though most of her strength had returned, as she was dressed and present at her mates side at the feast.

"was roasted" fails the "by zombies" test for passive voice--put the actors first, before the action.

"up" is clutter.

"along with" = "and", and unless for some reason it's sugared, all meat is savory.

We know (or can easily infer that) it's a feast, so "at the feast" is clutter. This sentence is a tell instead of a show, though, and we can fix that.

"mates" needs an apostrophe.

I'm going to add "dark red" here, so that I can remove the "red-skinned" from later, because the detail at that point detracts from the action.

Tribeswomen roasted mammoth and other meats. Dressed and present at her mate's side, Naalah's dark red skin had regained some of its color.

Bloodwine flowed out of the drinking horns almost as soon as it was poured. Some of the hunters beat their war drums to make music for the celebration. Dancers spun around each other in front of the bonfire. They danced for the son of the Chief.

"out of the" = "from", "almost" is clutter, and for that matter, "as soon as it was poured" is redundant because we've already got a great verb, "flowed", to describe the action.

"Some of the hunters" = "Hunters" (as we can assume the "some"), "their" is clutter, and "to make music for the" = "in".

We can combine the last two sentences with the one before them.

"the son of the Chief" = "his son", because we're in Garuun's POV.

Bloodwine flowed from drinking horns. Hunters beat war drums and dancers spun in front of the bonfire in celebration of his son.

Garuun and Naalah kissed, his mate biting down viciously on his lower lip, and drawing black blood, which only enticed the Chieftain for more. The small family was overjoyed and in the best of spirits, until the celebration was interrupted.

The first clause can be made more active. "viciously", aside from being an adverb (Boo! Hiss!), is redundant with "drawing black blood".

"down on" is clutter, as is "only".

"the Chieftain" = "him"

"enticed him for more" = "stoking his desire" (or something like that...I originally went with "arousing him", but that's a bit more explicit).

The second sentence here is both a tell and utterly redundant with the rest of the piece. We don't need to tell the reader what they already know from the action.

At this point I see no reason not to combine this sentence with the paragraph above, which we'll do in the final edit.

Naalah kissed him, biting his lower lip and drawing black blood, stoking his desire.

A scream coming from a female member of the tribe. The music and dancing cut out as the celebration came to a hault. The red skinned Orc came stumbling forward, she was holding her stomach which was bleeding with an arrow protruding from her abdomen. She stumbled to the center of the crowd of Orcs who made way for. The female uttered something incomprehensible and looked around hysterically. She looked up at Chief Garuun who bolted upright from his seat.

The first sentence is a sudden action, so it should be sudden prose.

The music and dancing are the celebration, so we can pick one or at most two of those words and rewrite the second sentence with it. "came to a hault[sic]" = "died".

While we're at it, let's combine that short sentence with the one after it, where:

"The red skinned Orc" = "she",

"came stumbling forward" = "stumbled forward",

"she was holding" = "clutching"

And we can move "bleeding" forward to boil out the last clause.

We have an echo on "stumbled", but the sentence (which ends abruptly and ungrammatically) is redundant enough with the one before it that we can eliminate it altogether.

"The female" = "she", "something incomprehensible" = "gibberish". To eliminate the adverb "hysterically" and the echo on "looked", we can combine the next two sentences, then spin off Garuun's action into its own paragraph where it belongs.

A tribeswoman screamed. The celebration died as she stumbled forward, clutching her bleeding stomach and the arrow protruding from it. She uttered gibberish and beseeched Garuun, eyes mad with pain.

Garuun bolted from his seat.

The female collapsed on her side and faded away into death's grip, her violet eyes glassing over as her last breath escaped her. Another loud roar came from within the crowd. It was the females mate. He picked up her limp body and tapped her cold cheek with his palm to wake her. Nothing happened. Her mate began to shake her crazily, still nothing happened. He gave up and buried his face in the females stomach. He yanked the arrow out and wiped away the black blood to expose a silver point. Steel. He turned to Garuun, held up the weapon and let out a blood curdling scream. Steel was used by Humans over the Reach. This was a deliberate attack against the tribe.

The first sentence combines a show with a redunant tell. As do the next two. Let's make them one!

I don't know how one taps with a palm, so I changed that to "patted". "to wake her" is redundant.

It's rare that an author should tell the reader what didn't happen, as opposed to what did. To that effect, we can boil out both "nothing happened"s.

"Her mate" = "he".

"began to" is clutter, as he isn't interrupted.

"crazily" is clutter.

The action in this paragraph doesn't make sense. The arrow is protruding from her stomach, so he can't bury his head there without it being in the way. Thus, I'm changing stomach to "breast". This has the advantage of putting him in a great position to wrest out the arrow--which should happen in its own paragraph.

Steel isn't silver, and the fact that it's steel can be emphasized by breaking the echo rule and using the word twice in close succession.

Let's combine the actions of turning and holding up the weapon.

At this point, the information that the humans (which should not be capitalized) are over the Reach interferes with the narrative--there will be a better place for it somewhere else in the story. That it's a deliberate attack is redundant with what happens next.

Her mate roared as she collapsed, her violet eyes glassing over as her last breath escaped her. He picked up her limp body and patted her cold cheek with his palm. He shook her, then gave up and buried his face in her breast.

He yanked the arrow out and wiped away the black blood to expose a steel point. Steel. He held it up to Garuun and let out a blood curdling scream. Humans.

More arrows began to fall out of the sky. Orcs fled for shelter and weapons. Garuun was struck in the shoulder with a steel arrow. The chieftain pulled it out and snapped it between his fingers, a small trickle of blood running down his arm. He used his body as a shield to allow Naalah and the child to run.

"More" and "began to" are clutter, and "fall out of the sky" = "fell."

"was struck in the shoulder" fails the "by zombies" test, and while he can guess it's got a steel head, he wouldn't have time to know that for sure while it's burying itself in his shoulder.

"The chieftain" = "he", because we haven't left his POV (as we shouldn't in a single scene)...and while there's nothing wrong with "pulled", I think we can pick a verb that's more active (in the pizzazz sense, not the grammatical sense). Trickles are small, and the phrase can boil down by making it more active (in the grammatical sense).

The last sentence doesn't work with the one that starts the next paragraph. He didn't just shield them, he ran with them.

Arrows fell. Orcs fled for shelter and weapons. An arrow struck Garuun in the shoulder. He jerked it out and snapped it between his fingers, blood trickling down his arm. He shielded Naalah and their child with his body as they ran.

The three of them made it back to their long tent. Garuun went into his battle chest and quickly threw on his light armor and picked up his axes. He got his tiger saddled and placed Naalah in the seat. The Mistress had her child in a sling across her chest. Garuun looked up one last time at his mate.

So now "The three of them" = "They.

This is one of those cases where I'm going to advocate adding some words. "Light armor" doesn't mean anything in this context--it could be most anything, and gives the reader nothing whatsoever to go on. I'm going to guess that it's leathers and furs, but of course this is something that would be discussed with the author were I editing for the author instead of boiling as an exercise.

"went into" = "opened", "quickly threw on" = "pulled on"

"got his tiger saddled" fails the "by zombie" test, and is the tiger really in their tent?

Combining these sentences will boil out a few more words.

"one last time" is a POV glitch, sometimes called "author intrusion". Unless he's psychic, he can't know that it's the last time. ...and instead of using something kind of bland like "looked up at", we can boil things down by using something punchier.

They made it back to their long tent. Garuun opened his battle chest, pulled on his leather and fur armor, and picked up his axes. Outside, he saddled his tiger and placed Naalah in the seat, their child in a sling across her chest. They locked eyes.

The Result:

In the final read, I think that Garuun bolting from his seat belongs with the woman screaming, at the cost of an added "as". The line about meat belongs in the paragraph about wine and celebration.

As the sun set, Chief Garuun displayed his son to the orc hunters in the Black Sun camp. They admired the boy's strength and shared their belief that he would become a mighty warrior like his fathers before him. Dressed and present at her mate's side, Naalah's dark red skin had regained some of its color.  

Tribeswomen roasted mammoth and other meats. Bloodwine flowed from drinking horns. Hunters beat war drums and dancers spun in front of the bonfire in celebration of his son. Naalah kissed him, biting his lower lip and drawing black blood, stoking his desire. 

He bolted from his seat as a tribeswoman screamed. The celebration died as she stumbled forward, clutching her bleeding stomach and the arrow protruding from it. She uttered gibberish and beseeched Garuun, eyes mad with pain. 

Her mate roared as she collapsed, her violet eyes glassing over as her last breath escaped her. He picked up her limp body and patted her cold cheek with his palm. He shook her, then gave up and buried his face in her breast. 

He yanked the arrow out and wiped away the black blood to expose a steel point. Steel. He held it up to Garuun and let out a blood curdling scream. Humans. 

Arrows fell. Orcs fled for shelter and weapons. An arrow struck Garuun in the shoulder. He jerked it out and snapped it between his fingers, blood trickling down his arm. He shielded Naalah and their child with his body as they ran. 

They made it back to their long tent. Garuun opened his battle chest, pulled on his leather and fur armor, and picked up his axes. Outside, he saddled his tiger and placed Naalah in the seat, their child in a sling across her chest. They locked eyes.

298 words from 503 is a 40.7% reduction, though there is the slight cheat of omitting the Reach. Other than that, how'd I do?

Boiling a Poet's Prose with Sy Maher

This week's boiling comes from Sy Maher, a creative writing student who has published several poems in the horror genre. She submitted the first 527 words of her novel, Dead Play, for a turn in the pot.

The Original:

The sword sliced through the air, and Jai danced foot to foot making wide circles with the blade. The Viking sword, named Ulfberht or at least a copy of the famed blade, was a steel door, and shut her away from the mundane. Gods she loved make believe. Thord of the traveling renaissance festival, Thord of the fake name, was one hell of a smithy, and had made it for her for a dear price.

Sunlight stretched from the window and flashed on the steel sword its light spotted her shirt, and flashed her eye for a second. Ulfberht was strong, yet so flexible it would not break under the rages of warfare. She’d made the tale of its making, a metaphor for her life. Baptized in fire, and hammered free from impurities, the sword was a marvel for its era. The making of it took patience--and in time, like it, she would be complete. Face misted of sweat droplets, she placed Ulfberht back on the wall rack, and flopped down in a tan leather chair to type. Jai wrote scripts, codes, and designed fantasy combat games for a living.  In this room, she could let her mind run as wild as a microburst hiding in the Arizona wind. Never knowing where it would hit, or what it would uproot. Gods she loved such things.

On display in the room: Viking axes, spears, and shields, Japanese tea service, shodō calligraphy, and a samurai sword passed down by her ancestors. Her namesake and grandfather presented it to her, the samurai sword, on the day she received her master’s degree. It hung next to Ulfberht--both swords were her most prized possessions. Collecting whatever honored her Swedish and Japanese ancestry made her feel like she belonged to something bigger than her chaotic beginnings.

Her eyes fixed to a spot where an ax was mounted. If her dad had been strong, she liked to think he would have been the one to give her some of these things. A long time ago, he’d been an archeologist mom told her. He should have been the one to tell her about the Viking weapons, the meaning of decorated handles, or the indestructible sword. If mom knew what drove dad to ruin his life, she never said.  If Jai knew, maybe she could forgive him. What her mom said was that she loved him too much to leave at first. Then when Jai was fifteen, and her mother found out what dads tanked-up friends were up to, she knew she had to leave.

A key clinked and the front door opened, and Jai rose from her chair.

“A little warning, Gods mom. You scared the crap outa me.”

“Got some Miso soup from Grandma.”

“I was working.”

“You were playing with the swords.”

“That is work.”

“Just on my way home and--.”

“You thought you would make me feel guilty about grandma. Not visiting.”

“No, she just wants to know if you are getting any hang ups on the phone. She says it’s happening again.”

Mom was standing there with the Pyrex container of Miso and Jai was being an ass.

The Condensation:

Throughout, I've deleted commas as I've felt necessary. I've yet to meet two editors who agree on comma usage, not even Strunk and White vs. the Chicago Manual of Style, so I tend to go with what feels right.

Jai danced, making wide circles with the blade. The Viking sword, named Ulfberht or at least a copy of the famed blade, was a steel door, and shut her away from the mundane. Gods she loved make believe. Thord of the traveling renaissance festival, Thord of the fake name, was one hell of a smithy, and had made it for her for a dear price.

Any blade with which one makes wide circles will slice through the air, and all dancing is foot to foot.

The next two clauses are clunky; we never need to state that something is named, only name it. I'm simile-adverse by nature, but will keep it in deference to the author... Yet, it can be combined with the next phrase to condense things down a bit.

If we kept the next sentence I'd add a comma, but otherwise leave it unchanged. However, I question its existence at all--if the rest of the chapter doesn't reveal that she loves make believe, then there's a problem with the rest of the chapter for which this tell is just a symptom. Between the rest of it and the previous sentence, I think we can remove it entirely as redundant.

The last sentence has some charming and intentional redundancy, but we can keep that redundancy and still boil things down a bit. That he made the sword, however, identifies him as a smith without us having to say so. And if the fact that the ren faire travels isn't important to the narrative, we can boil it out.

"made it for her" = "custom made it", and we can change a "for" to "at" to eliminate the echo.

And now that we know it's custom-made by Thord of the fake name, we don't need to state that it's a copy, as that is now obvious.

Jai danced, making wide circles with the Viking blade, Ulfberht shutting away the mundane like a steel door. Thord of the fake name, Thord of the renaissance festival, had custom made it for her at a dear price.

Sunlight stretched from the window and flashed on the steel sword its light spotted her shirt, and flashed her eye for a second. Ulfberht was strong, yet so flexible it would not break under the rages of warfare. She’d made the tale of its making, a metaphor for her life. Baptized in fire, and hammered free from impurities, the sword was a marvel for its era. The making of it took patience--and in time, like it, she would be complete. Face misted of sweat droplets, she placed Ulfberht back on the wall rack, and flopped down in a tan leather chair to type. Jai wrote scripts, codes, and designed fantasy combat games for a living.  In this room, she could let her mind run as wild as a microburst hiding in the Arizona wind. Never knowing where it would hit, or what it would uproot. Gods she loved such things.

If we take the information that she's in a room from later in the paragraph, we can boil out "from the window". "stretched" is clutter, as is "steel" (because all blades are steel unless in some weird fantasy land). There's an echo on flashed, so we can change the first to "reflected". As she's mid-dance, "for a second" is unneeded, as the situation necessary for the sword to reflect sunlight to her eye would be transient. I question whether or not, mid-dance, she'd notice the shirt-spotting especially with the light hitting her eyes. To avoid the POV glitch, we should remove it.

The second sentence is a tell (the "was" being a dead giveaway), and I don't see much of an opportunity to turn it into a show in this paragraph. It's boilable as-is, ("so flexible it would not" = "flexible enough not to"), but we'll revisit it on a final read and see what can be done with it.

"She'd made the tale of its making" can lose the first 2/3, and we can combine it with the next sentence. "the making of it" can become "the forging"... And by moving the "like it", we can avoid telling the reader that it's a metaphor, and just make the metaphor.

I don't know how to read, "Face misted of sweat droplets", and I think we could make it more active anyway. "back" is clutter, as is "wall". "down in" = "into"

I think we need a paragraph break here...but the next line is a tell. It's probably okay as a tell, but "wrote scripts, codes, and designed" = "coded"

"she could let" is clutter if "run" becomes "ran". "where it hit or what it would uproot", while fine as-is, can convey the same feeling--which is what's important in metaphor--if we boil out the first "it would".

Reflected sunlight from the sword flashed in her eye. Ulfberht was strong, yet flexible enough not to break under the rages of warfare. A marvel for its era, baptized in fire and hammered free from impurities, the forging took patience--and like it, in time her life would be complete. Sweat misting her face, she placed Ulfberht on the rack and flopped onto a tan leather chair to type.  

Jai coded fantasy combat games for a living.  In this room her mind ran as wild as a microburst hiding in the Arizona wind, never knowing where or what it would uproot. Gods, she loved such things.

On display in the room: Viking axes, spears, and shields, Japanese tea service, shodō calligraphy, and a samurai sword passed down by her ancestors. Her namesake and grandfather presented it to her, the samurai sword, on the day she received her master’s degree. It hung next to Ulfberht--both swords were her most prized possessions. Collecting whatever honored her Swedish and Japanese ancestry made her feel like she belonged to something bigger than her chaotic beginnings.

We can condense a lot by moving the samurai sword--katana--to the next sentence, and combining that with the one after.

The tell of "were her" can be made more active.

We already know she's a collector from context. "made her feel like she belonged to" = "tied her to"

On display in the room: Viking axes, spears, and shields, Japanese tea service, shodō calligraphy.... Next to Ulfberht hung the ancestral katana her grandfather had presented her when she'd received her master's degree. She prized them above all other possessions. Honoring her Swedish and Japanese ancestry tied her to something bigger than her chaotic beginnings.

Her eyes fixed to a spot where an ax was mounted. If her dad had been strong, she liked to think he would have been the one to give her some of these things. A long time ago, he’d been an archeologist mom told her. He should have been the one to tell her about the Viking weapons, the meaning of decorated handles, or the indestructible sword. If mom knew what drove dad to ruin his life, she never said.  If Jai knew, maybe she could forgive him. What her mom said was that she loved him too much to leave at first. Then when Jai was fifteen, and her mother found out what dads tanked-up friends were up to, she knew she had to leave.

This first sentence is a cumbersome way to say that she looked at an ax on the wall, and given the descriptions of everything else, I don't know that it adds any substance to the narrative. So let's boil it out.

"she liked to think" is clutter, because we're in her mind already. "been the one" is clutter if "give" becomes "given".

"mom told her" on first blush looks like clutter, but might not be, because it reveals that Jai didn't know her dad...but later in the paragraph we learn that her dad left when she was fifteen, and it's next to impossible that she'd reach that age without knowing that her dad had been an archeologist. "A long time ago" = "Once".

"been the one" appears again, and is clutter here, too. "the Viking weapons" can condense with "decorated handles" to become "Viking hilt decorations".

"what drove dad to ruin"  = "why he'd ruined", fixing the tense in the process.

The next sentence needs no boiling, but the one after can lose "What", and "was that"

"Then" and "when" can boil out, rendering the sentence more active. "she knew she had to leave" = "and left him".

If her dad had been strong, he'd have given her some of these things. Once an archeologist, he should have told her about the meaning of Viking hilt decorations, or the indestructible sword. If mom knew why he'd ruined his life, she never said.  If Jai knew, maybe she could forgive him. Her mom said she loved him too much to leave at first. When Jai was fifteen, her mother found out what dad's tanked-up friends were up to, and left him.

A key clinked and the front door opened, and Jai rose from her chair.

“A little warning, Gods mom. You scared the crap outa me.”

“Got some Miso soup from Grandma.”

“I was working.”

“You were playing with the swords.”

“That is work.”

“Just on my way home and--.”

“You thought you would make me feel guilty about grandma. Not visiting.”

“No, she just wants to know if you are getting any hang ups on the phone. She says it’s happening again.”

Mom was standing there with the Pyrex container of Miso and Jai was being an ass.

No reason not to boil out the second "and", and as we already know she's sitting, "rose from her chair" = "stood".

"outa" is not a word, and colloquialisms like this should be avoided. Most people will read it that way anyway.

I tend not to touch dialogue much, but judicial use of contractions can help keep it from being too stilted. Thus, "That is work" = "That's work". The "just" and "any" in the last line can be boiled out while preserving the accent (enough for this reader, anyway...dialogue is tricky, and the author might insist they go back in.)

This chunk is Brenda Starr Dialogue, and could benefit from some action (setting down the soup, standing awkwardly, whatever works to break it up a little and add some texture to the conversation).

This last sentence is all tell, no show. The standing there with the Pyrex container (which we know is full of Miso soup from the dialogue) can be incorporated to the dialogue, and whether or not Jai is being an ass can be inferred from the dialogue and actions of the characters--it's not something you can force the reader to think just by saying so.

A key clinked and the front door opened. 

 Jai stood. “A little warning, Gods mom. You scared the crap out of me.” 

 “Got some Miso soup from Grandma.”  

“I was working.”  

“You were playing with the swords.” Her mom stood there with the Pyrex container.  

“That's work.”  

“Just on my way home and--.”  

“You thought you would make me feel guilty about grandma. Not visiting.”  

“No, she wants to know if you are getting hang ups on the phone. She says it’s happening again.”

The Result:

Revisiting the tell from the second paragraph, we can merge those first two sentences. (I'm dubious of the claim of unbreakability, but don't know if this piece is fantasy or not, so left it in.)

Jai danced, making wide circles with the Viking blade, Ulfberht shutting away the mundane like a steel door. Thord of the fake name, Thord of the renaissance festival, had custom made it for her at a dear price. 

Reflected sunlight from the strong, flexible, unbreakable sword flashed in her eye. A marvel for its era, baptized in fire and hammered free from impurities, the forging took patience--and like it, in time her life would be complete. Sweat misting her face, she placed Ulfberht on the rack and flopped onto a tan leather chair to type.  

Jai coded designed fantasy combat games for a living.  In this room her mind ran as wild as a microburst hiding in the Arizona wind, never knowing where or what it would uproot. Gods, she loved such things.  

On display in the room: Viking axes, spears, and shields, Japanese tea service, shodō calligraphy.... Next to Ulfberht hung the ancestral katana her grandfather had presented her when she'd received her master's degree. She prized them above all other possessions. Honoring her Swedish and Japanese ancestry tied her to something bigger than her chaotic beginnings. 

If her dad had been strong, he'd have given her some of these things. Once an archeologist, he should have told her about the meaning of Viking hilt decorations, or the indestructible sword. If mom knew why he'd ruined his life, she never said.  If Jai knew, maybe she could forgive him. Her mom said she loved him too much to leave at first. When Jai was fifteen, her mother found out what dad's tanked-up friends were up to, and left him. 

A key clinked and the front door opened.  

Jai stood. “A little warning, Gods mom. You scared the crap out of me.” 

“Got some Miso soup from Grandma.” 

“I was working.” 

“You were playing with the swords.” Her mom stood there with the Pyrex container. 

“That's work.” 

“Just on my way home and--.” 

“You thought you would make me feel guilty about grandma. Not visiting.” 

“No, she wants to know if you are getting hang ups on the phone. She says it’s happening again.”

So that's 356 words from the original 527, a 32% reduction. What do you think?