Summary

The author, J.D. Harms, reflects on the editing process, emphasizing the importance of clarity in writing, and demonstrates this through the revision of their own poem titled "Moonrise."

Abstract

J.D. Harms shares insights into the value of editing for enhancing clarity in writing, drawing from a personal experience of revising an unpublished poem. The author illustrates the editing process by dissecting the original draft of "Moonrise," critiquing elements that lack clarity or cohesion, and making substantial changes to improve the piece. Through this reflection, Harms argues that editing is not just about refining words but also about understanding and conveying the intended message more effectively. The process involves reassessing initial ideas, removing or altering confusing parts, and ensuring that each element serves the overall purpose of the work.

Opinions

Harms believes that clarity in writing often emerges during the editing phase, particularly in the second draft.
The author suggests that no part of a written piece is exempt from potential revision, including the title, subject, and individual words.
Harms emphasizes the necessity of being critical, even with one's own work, to achieve clarity and coherence.
The author acknowledges that initial drafts may not fully capture the clarity of thought present at the moment of writing, necessitating a thorough revision process.
Harms values the transition from a stream of consciousness in early drafts to a more reasoned and expressive final product.
The reflection concludes with Harms' recognition that the pursuit of perfection in writing is unending, but striving for clarity for both the writer and the reader is essential.

The Editing Process: For Clarity

Demonstration and Reflection — 06 July 2021

Helping someone out with their poetry/revision process this last week gave me a (somewhat) striking realization: editing really helps writers clarify. Clarity, of purpose, subject, idea, etc., assuredly helps the reader enter into your space. Editing can help a writer become more aware of all the different mechanisms at work in any given piece, fiction or not. But clarity, I find, doesn’t necessarily reveal itself until the second draft…

There is no single element, not the title, nor the subject, nor individual words that are immune to revision.

Occasionally, we must be cruel, even/especially when it concerns our own words. But we do so in the service of clarity (among other things; ambition, too, comes to mind). Often, when I begin a piece, I tend to think I have a somewhat clear idea of what it’s about, why I’m even bothering to write it, etc. However, on return there’s usually a few/quite a few elements that confuse me. If I’m confused about it, how can I expect anyone else to bite into it?

When a draft spits itself out of me, reasoning usually plays second fiddle to my imagination/stream of consciousness. But, again, that can seem really clear in the moment, but later, seem…unclear, lacking the kind of expression you actually wanted to put your name on.

What I’d like to do in this Reflection, is give a demonstration of how I’d go about editing a particular piece. The one that I have chosen has not been published previously, is definitely half-formed, and lacking in enough of a body for me to publish. Certainly not in its present state. I am hoping that the explication of the editing process will prove helpful when you go to revise your own work.

I titled it “Moonrise”. I was fixated on the moon one night at work (yes, drafting at work is definitely not as conducive to fully-fleshed work as sitting down to my laptop is). At any rate, that was the image I began with. What came out, in between interruptions, was:

When the moon barges into the night — a bloodied skinned breast lunging over the world — startled by the colour –

Mars hanging around close again — shortened arc slides almost as soon as revealed — can I crawl into your pocket –

It would be warm there be inside be a whole gasping performance of spluttering — an indifference to

Which somehow still bleeds into the harsh hard of silver.

Now, initially, on return, I like the opening. I like the force of “barges”; the moon usually gets a softer repertoire than the burning, hot, “masculine” sun. I also like the “bloodied skinned breast”; again, this is contradistinction to the way the moon is usually portrayed.

But when I get to “startled by the colour”…I don’t know who is startled, or why. Why should it be startling when I’ve already declared that the moon just “barged” into the sky? So. This has to change, either by full removal, or with more development.

For the purpose of this reflection, I’m going to scrap it, and try to re-enter the work after:

The moon barges into the night — a skinned bloodied breast lunges over the world — nipple turned far, far away from the mouth — languor and replenishing eyeball glares at a dark face — can attention be spilt this way?

I confess I still like “Mars hanging around close again” but, once again, it seems dropped/forced into the original image simply because it’s another celestial body (and I was absolutely thrilled by the week I got to see Mars when it was close to us). Does it belong? Is it clear what it’s doing here? Considering what follows, “shortened arc”, my gut tells me its too jarring, doesn’t really suit its purpose. So, I’ll drop Mars and see what I can develop in order to situate the “shortened arc” and provide a new transition from the first stanza.

stripped and painted — and the fore-shortened arc begins its slide almost as soon as revealed — can I crawl into your pocket –I want to be able to hide — like you

Note how the idea has shifted, too. Initially, there’s a shocking of the scene as the moon erupts onto it. Here, using the word “painted” and “fore-shortened”, I have definitely connect my initial image to a sense of perception and art.

Much happier with what’s developing so far. I feel like the piece is much more cohesive. When I get to the next line, I find I’m lost again. Yes, fabric/warmth connects to the pocket line, but I don’t know what it’s doing. So, I scrap that too, and see what happens.

a whole gasping performance of spluttering indifference to the bleeding out in the harsh hard of silver.

Now, all put together anew: “Moonrise”

The moon barges into the night — a skinned bloodied breast lunges over the world — nipple turned far, far away from the mouth — languor and replenishing eyeball glares at a dark face — can attention be spilt this way? stripped and painted — and the fore-shortened arc begins its slide almost as soon as revealed — I can crawl into your pocket-–I want to be able to hide — like you a whole gasping performance of spluttering indifference to the bleeding out in the harsh hard of silver.

Now, there is nothing but nothing saying that the piece can’t be altered beyond this, and if I was considering publishing it, I would continue to work on it. However, this demonstration has shown some of the substantive changes that can happen when you return to a work. Don’t push for perfection: you will ALWAYS find things you’d like to change in a piece. Push for some clarity, for yourself. For the reader.

J.D. Harms 2021