So months of editing, and buckets of sweat and tears, have led to the creation of my book.
There are three types of editing that a book can go through.
First there are the large edits, Developmental Editing, this is a full edit to essential elements like the plot and characters, along with cutting scenes or adding them. This takes the longest because of how much can be taken out or rearranged.
Next, Copy-Editing, which is the line by line edits, where grammar, repetition, and some smaller revisions are suggested.
Finally there is Proofreading, the editing done before a book is finalized, before it is printed.
It is my pleasure to announce that all of these edits have been made and the book will be making its way to layout soon!
So as a treat, here was a part that got cut in the developmental edits. The reasons were that it was too descriptive and kind of threw the reader out of the story for a moment.
The ocean was calling to him. He could hear the hissing of vents in the floor and the calls of dolphins echoing through the waves. He watched spiny catfish swim by, while shrimp scuttled around the floor. There was algae that grew in groves, so thick that if he swam into them he could be trapped by its snagging tentacle like vines. It was a legend that a merperson, who could live harmoniously with all of the ocean's creatures, who could understand and help them, could hear the voice of the ocean. It was the voice part Adam clung to, could it possibly mean his siren singing. Was there a place for him after all?
From memory, he thought of colorful coral and anemones with their schools of fish. Seahorses that drifted with the water and were surprisingly resilient with their little fin. The seahorses had bony little bodies, their tails clung to coral when the tides got rough. Eels hid in the rocks along the sandy floor, their snaky heads and luminous eyes making them seem otherworldly. However, he really loved the turtles. There were only a few that he had ever seen, large adult turtles with hard shells. The shells patterned in varying greens and streaked with yellow, but what he loved the most about them was that they could withdraw into their shells. He felt like a turtle sometimes, poking his head out to test the waters, but pulling back in when danger was near. The slow drifting of all the ocean life, and when Flippers went by, the sharp, quick movements as they all went for cover. It was something he was familiar with, slow sluggish life punctured by quick bursts of movement. He knew all these things about the ocean; he even felt like some of its creatures. Why could he not be revered like the voice of the ocean?
Once, a long time ago, he discovered the hideout for hundreds of roe, fish eggs, that gleamed like hidden treasures, in the recesses of a small cave. Each one contained life and Adam was entranced by the little spheres. He hadn’t left the roe until the mother of the fish returned and chased him away. The fish had been protective of all its children, even though there was a chance that many of them wouldn’t survive. Adam retreated respectfully, honoring the distrust of the parent fish. He didn’t want to cause stress to the mother besides he was glad there were mothers like that. Ones that were protective and present, he missed his mother.
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