Here we are, the second week! You’ve seen my ultra-messy, write-until-words-stop, what-even-is-plot-anyway?! post. That was then. This is now. And now… Well, now we’re cooking but we’re still missing some ingredients. Or something. I don’t know, please don’t judge me, I’m hungry and I don’t have any good snacks. Let’s dive in with my revision goals and second draft, shall we?
Revision Goals
So, after reviewing my first draft, I jotted down my top three needs. My goals for revision were:
- Get under 1000 words.
- Fix random switches to first person.
- Pick a stinking story thread and stick with it.
Not too broad or difficult at all, huh? This first draft was all over the place. Some guy that sounded like he was important, but became what… the enemy? Weird, rambling bits about getting in without being caught. That, dear readers, is called “I don’t know what to write so I’m going with the flow.”
There were no darlings in that draft. Everything was fair game when it came to edits, good riddance.
I knew what wanted the MC to be ambiguous. Is she good or evil? What about the person with the green gloves. Are they good or evil? Who even is the antagonist? That’s for you to decide. (Mostly because I need to fine-tune, still! A second draft does not a complete story make.)
So, to tackle my goals, I first highlighted my favorite parts in green for “keep,” put the “oh gosh, what were you thinking??” bits in red, and hacked and slashed my way through the doc until some kind of story started to form. I found a bit more personality in the MC, though I think she’s still lacking. When it comes to the person with the green gloves, well, they’re still a work in progress. Beyond intimidation and a penchant for wearing outdoor accessories inside, I don’t know what they’ve got going on. Maybe the critique partners I get in the next round can point me in the right direction.
Enough rambling! Here’s my (still untitled) self-revised second draft. The prompt image is at the bottom, in case you need a refresher.
Oh, and side note: Last year’s prompt was so much easier for me. I feel like the words came much quicker, and I had a solid idea the moment I saw the image. This year, I love the image and feel so many feelings, and yet… the paragraphs aren’t so easy to formulate. Inspiration is a funny thing, isn’t it?
Untitled Still, Whoopsie!
Contained. Restrained. Locked down and under control. Keep it together, no matter what. That was the one rule. Keep the secrets, share the imperative, don’t let the truth slip. They’d asked question. after question. after mind-probing question. She’d held steady.
The person with the green gloves circled her, hands clasped in front of them, faux trustworthiness worn like a cloak. “Someone’s keeping a little secret.”
She bit into the worn-sore skin inside her cheek. The pain grounded her, shielded her. “Rumor has it there are lots of secrets around here.”
They grunted, lips turned ever-downward. Time was a tool of the trade. You earned more when the subconscious did the talking—when the waiting was too much.
“It’s there, hiding. Someone trained you well. No matter. I’ll find it. Then, I’ll undo you with a whisper.”
“You’ve got the wrong gal. You can’t find something if there’s nothing to find.”
“Friedrick’s Dock, seven dead, one escaped.” They prodded the center of her ribcage with a meaty finger. “You.”
Cross denial off the list of probable tactics. Her mental bear trap tightened—metal tooth upon metal tooth—to keep her thoughts unreachable, untouchable.
Unsellable.
Her mind was granite, but their words were the rain. A relentless beating of raindrops in the form of accusations and misdirection. But, no matter how hard the rain poured, there was always something left of the stone. Pieces and sand rather than boulders, but pieces would do.
If they had enough secrets to sort through, she could outlast them. Keep the thoughts steady, silent. Entombed. Buried beneath the irrelevant brain fog, beneath lesser truths. Never lies. Lying was too easy to spot.
“Someone’s not supposed to be here,” he crooned. “Someone’s supposed to have joined her bloated companions at the bottom of the sea. How does a wispy thing like you escape an ordeal like Friedrick’s?”
Memories tried to spring up like crocus in early spring, but she conjured a shadowed figure to bury the tiny, wriggling worms of thought. Irrelevant memories, insignificant faces, a back and forth of wishes and dreams being beaten away by the idea of regret. The battlefield inside her head was always morphing as needed.
Slowly, bits of thought slipped—but not by accident. Hers was a calculated effort.
“Ah.” Their teeth flashed in a satisfied sneer.
She resisted as her mind tried to shift, to think about the one thing she had buried, had forced herself to forget. She held the image of The Company in her mind instead, feigned a twinge of distress at the thought of sacrificing them. To survive. To live. A pinprick sensation pinged at the base of her skull as the one with green gloves plucked a thought from beneath a pile of mental rubble.
“There’s only one doorway in the city with a view like that.” They snapped their fingers, the thunder to accompany the lightning of their epiphany moment. “Is that the location, then? That’s where they’re hiding, dealing secrets to the other side. To the enemy. And for what, a moment of glory?”
“You only despise glory because you’ve never had it,” she said. She tipped her chin upward, defiant. “Might like it, given the opportunity.”
They spat on the floor. “Betrayal is despicable.”
As she sat, her skull so thoroughly picked over, they had the nerve to speak of betrayal.
What did they know of betrayal?
She let flashes of memories slip through, one by one. Fuzzy, then clearer, then clearer, until it was obvious which faces she wanted them to pick out of the crowd. Each of the people who had betrayed her along the way.
The people who laughed and turned her away when she had nothing but the clothes on her back. Those who had shunned her for her uncanny knack for knowing. Nothing specific, and nothing intentional. Just knowing.
Those who had called her too dangerous for freedom. Those who had thought the worst of her, and yet still underestimated her. She gave them up. All except one.
She’d kept his location locked away, and instead flooded her oppressor with images of The Company—her former associates. Turned the lesser evils over to the enemy, because her friend had become the enemy. She would take pleasure in ending him herself.
She slumped, a mask of fatigue painted across her features. Exhaustion, defeat, frustration. A far cry from the smug cheer she held back, the mettle she hid in her heart.
They laced their gloved fingers and reached their arms above their head in a cocky, spine-cracking stretch. “It was a good fight. Not a fair one, by any means, but a good one. We’ll be back to end this when we’re sure we’ve extracted all of the information we need.”
They left with a self-assured chuckle.
She wiggled her wrists to finish the untying process she’d begun the moment they’d bound her, then tugged the rope between her hands to test the strength. A sufficient tool for defense, if necessary.
She shook away the fog she’d created in her mind, then pulled forward the memory she’d risked everything to keep. Where he’d hidden. He’d promised her freedom in exchange for one final favor: incite an ambush to rid him of The Company before they snuffed him out for his artifice. Because only she could deceive this way. Only she could hold a secret so closely.
But she knew he wasn’t going to keep his end of the deal, and the one with the green gloves wasn’t going to give up either. So she’d planted ideas elsewhere—they weren’t going to arrive at base to find The Company unaware.
The Company was ready. waiting. willing to raze the building behind them if it meant survival. Then they’d find him, and he wouldn’t survive.
Betrayal tasted sweeter when it earned your freedom.
When it’s kill or be killed, it’s better to bury the biggest secrets beneath the ones that keep you alive.
