Developmental Edit #7

Setting in relation to character

This week’s mini edit comes from an active coaching client named Juniper Fox. She’s writing a fantasy romance and is speeding along, creating a manuscript full of colorful characters and engaging dialogue.

Let’s take a look at Juniper’s first 500 words and see if there’s anything we can tweak to be more effective.

Ember of Dawn

Chapter 1

The Caethryn is disciplined.
The Caethryn is refined.
The Caethryn’s magic belongs to her kingdom.
The Caethryn lives to serve her king.

Saoirse's gaze rested on the arched window framed with twisted branches of white birch. Moonbeams filtered through the mist curling around the spires of the castle carved from quartz. The mantra for the Caethryn, the title bestowed upon the queen consort, escaped her lips with a measured cadence, each word falling softly into the heavy stillness of the room. [I’d like to know what Saoirse is feeling or thinking here. Is she reciting this mantra because it comforts her? Or because she’s in a stupor? Does she think it will achieve anything in this moment or is it a habit?] A raven perched on a knotted outcropping of wood twisted into the shape of a mantle, preening its sleek, black feathers as its sharp eyes darted about the opulent chamber. Intricate, woven tapestries muffled the occasional flutter of its wings. Floors crafted from petrified wood inlaid with veins of quartz were polished to a shine and gleamed coldly underfoot. High above, gossamer drapes shimmered faintly in the breeze that sent a chill over Saoirse’s bare skin. [These physical descriptions, while lovely, are difficult to wade through, especially as they come all in one paragraph. Let’s get an idea for the situation the character has found herself in before we lay out the room’s details.]

Her slim hands rested primly in her lap, their soft, pale skin, contrasting with the deep wine-red of the carpet she knelt on. Thick black hair, brushed to a dark sheen, spilled over her shoulders, catching the faint light. Silver bangles on her wrists and ankles jingled softly, their embedded moonstones glowing. The weight of the magical wards infused within the metal felt heavy against her fragile bones. The bitter tang of the wards lingered on her tongue, mingling with the scent of aged wood and incense that clung to the air. She wore nothing except the bangles, a stark and intentional display of her revered purity in contrast to the room's indulgent splendor. [I’d like to understand how she feels about the bangles. Were they forced on her, or are they cultural? How the bangles look and feel is less important that what they mean to her.]

The raven let out a startled cry and launched itself from its perch as the door to Saoirse’s chamber burst open with a resounding crash, the heavy wood striking the stone wall. Saoirse didn’t flinch but let her head tilt slightly, her gaze following the raven’s escape.

Lucky little bird. [This is the first instance we get a glimpse into what Saoirse is feeling.]

A heavy, sweet scent invaded the room, sickly and cloying, like stale flowers masking something worse. [Good.] The High Priestess entered with deliberate steps, her presence as oppressive as the smell that clung to her. The sorceress's ceremonial robes, deep blue edged with gleaming silver, swirled around her like tendrils of smoke. [Also good.] Her hood was pulled up, obscuring her face in shadows, except for the pale, twin voids of her eyes that made Saoirse’s skin prickle. [Notice how in this paragraph you blend the description with the character. We’re being introduced to someone important. And rather than simply tell us she’s wearing blue robes and is heavily perfumed, you use those details to convey the disgust Saoirse feels and how elusive and soulless this woman is. That’s called tone and that’s good writing.]

“Blessings upon you, Caethryn,” came the saccharine lilt of High Priestess Maelis's voice as she flung the window shut. She was the world’s most sanctimonious corpse. [Haha]

That’s not fair. A corpse would be much more genuine.

Saoirse turned slowly, her expression carefully blank. The moonlight caught on her pale skin, accentuating the faint shadows beneath her eyes—a testament to the pain she had endured hours ago. [The shadows under her eyes as proof of something she went through is also an excellent detail.] The magic bound within the metal on her wrists and ankles pulsed faintly, sensing her rising tension.

“You look well,” Maelis said, her voice honeyed but brittle. “Much better than I feared after your… correction.” She glided forward, the fabric of her robes brushing the floor with a faint hiss. [I like the explanation of the sound of the robe. Really brings up the imagery. We also recognize that the “correction” and the “pain she endured hours ago” are significant. This yanks us into the story because we realize things are not so good for Saoirse. She was likely reeling from this and that should be made clear in the first paragraphs.]

OUR SUMMARY