I’ve been on Revision Highway lately, a road familiar to those of us who are compelled to write.
All writers, published or pre-published, eventually come to embrace the immutable truth that hidden beauty emerges during revision. You may think your precious manuscript is ready to go when you reach the end of the first draft, but chances are very good you are wrong.
Throwing yourself wholeheartedly into the revision process turns off your writing brain and engages your analytical reading brain, the one that notes which characters need to be fleshed out, identifies previously unnoticed plot holes and spots flat narrative energy, among other problems.
Next month I hope to talk more about what I’m revising, but today I want to revisit a post from December, 2015, in which I wrote about learning to love revision. The part that’s worth another read follows:
Revision is More Fun than You Think
In my pre-published years, I felt about revision like I feel about dusting—that it was a necessary chore, the kind of task that invites procrastination. Sweeping the garage, cleaning out the fridge and washing the kitchen floor are reasonably rewarding exercises. Dusting makes the furniture look better only until the next sunny day, when the beams coming through your windows show more gray fuzz on the end tables. When dusting, I grit my teeth and force myself to be thorough, when my natural inclination is to give it a lick and a promise.
The difference between dusting and revision is that I now embrace the opportunity to make my words shine. My blog sisters Kate Flora and Barb Ross (and more recently, friend of the blog Jessica Ellicott/Jessica Estevao)—collectively, the Queens of Revision—have inspired this attitude adjustment. On this blog and in workshop settings, all three have shared systems they have devised to tighten their prose, smooth awkward transitions and amp up tension. I don’t do exactly what they do, because their weaknesses (to the extent they have weaknesses) are not necessarily my own. But like them, I’ve created for myself system to help me strengthen my stories.
I have a worksheet that I complete with a sharp pencil, because writing by hand puts me in an analytical head space. 
This is critical during revision. I was frustrated when I attempted to revise solely on the keyboard, because that process didn’t allow me to break out of my intuitive writing mindset. But writing and revision are two different things. It was a big day when that important truth dawned on me.
Here’s a photo of my worksheet, which allows me to take my work apart one scene at a time. Your worksheet page may be geared to chapters, but my analysis is always scene by scene.
Brenda’s Revision Worksheet – fill out with #2 pencil for best results
At the top I note the day of the week and date when the action occurs, to keep my timeline in order. If I’m writing in more than one voice (as I did in my first and third Joe Gale books, Quick Pivot and Truth Beat) I jot down who is narrating. This allows me to sort the scenes by voice/point of view and review and revise what’s going on from each character’s perspective separately. Then I ask seven key questions:
- Does the opening grab the reader?
- What happens?
- Does whatever happens move the plot forward?
- What creates the tension?
- What new characters are introduced? Am I giving the reader enough information about them in this scene? Too much?
- Can more be done to amplify the setting?
- Is the kicker (end of scene) strong enough?
Questions 1 and 7 are a standard part of the curriculum of the arrive late/leave early school of suspense writing. My best scenes open in the middle of action and end with a strong hook. In the beginning I had a new writer’s tendency to set up the scene, but I’ve pretty much broken that habit. It is fine for me to think about what Joe Gale would do while he got ready for a big day. But my readers don’t need to see him getting dressed or driving to an interview. Better to jump into the action, whether it’s a skull tumbling out of a collapsing wall or a tense interview with someone who knew a murder victim. Similarly, the last passage of a scene has to pull the reader into the next scene. A flat ending encourages the reader to set the book down. The goal is to keep ‘em reading.
Question 2 and 4 also are close cousins. Making myself write out what happens allows me to chart the action. Is there enough going on? Too much at once? Then I analyze the scene in terms of tension. Every single scene needs to have some tension. Sometimes it’s at a screaming pitch and sometimes it’s on simmer, to allow the reader some respite. But tension must be constant. Using a worksheet to chart the tension level has been an enormous help for me.
As for Question 5, I list the characters introduced in each scene to sharpen my awareness of pacing. Am I throwing new characters into the mix rat-a-tat-tat, so fast the reader can’t connect with them? Or am I being too measured, which can rob energy from the narrative?
The questions on this worksheet reflect the areas where I tend to get into trouble if I don’t watch myself. Your tendencies may differ, and thus the questions on your worksheet. But I do recommend creating a tool to help with the process of reflecting with clear eyes on the quality of your work. It has turned me into a revision believer.
But I still disdain dusting, so don’t hold your breath waiting for a post from me on the merits of microfiber vs. feather dusters.
Brenda Buchanan sets her novels and short stories in Maine. Her three-book Joe Gale series features a contemporary newspaper reporter with old-school style who covers the courts and crime beat at the fictional Portland Daily Chronicle. She’s currently working on a new series featuring Neva Pierce, a Portland criminal defense lawyer. Brenda also writes short fiction. Most recently, her story “Links in the Chain” appeared in the anthology The Lines We Cross, published in conjunction with the Bouchercon World Mystery Conference in October, 2026. Another story “Crime of Devotion” was included in Murder Most Senior, an anthology published in conjunction with the 2026 Malice Domestic conference. Several of her stories have appeared in the annual Best of New England Crime Stories anthologies, including “Means, Motive, and Opportunity,” which appeared in Bloodroot: Best New England Crime Stories 2021 and received an honorable mention in Best American Mystery and Suspense 2022.
Her interpretations of music from the 1930s, 40s, 50s and a few from the 90s – were fabulous – because I heard the lyrics in new ways. “What makes a ‘standard’” ? she asked the audience. Her answer – a song that not only LASTS through generations, but that has a universal emotion that continues to hit people in lots of different decades. Made me think about the ‘older’ crime/mystery novels that we still read – because of the characters that still speak to us.
I learned that Roy was a generous soul and allowed young artists to copy his work (which they did, almost dot by dot). He said, go ahead copy – and use the exercise to find your own voice. I learned that many fellow artists, like Warhol, bought Roy’s work, even if the critics were unkind.
The Charlie Mingus Band was playing. Charlie is deceased, but his wife used her own money to form this band so that Charlie’s contemporary jazz compositions would not go unplayed. The band has been together for over a decade now and play all over the world. How each instrumentalist plays off each other and riffs and changes and goes back to the written sheets was inspirational.
A few things I’m going to commit to:
If you are in and around Portland this week, I hope you can join Rebecca Turkewitz and I in conversation about the Best American Mystery and Suspense.
Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be posts by Gabi Stiteler (Monday), Jule Selbo (Tuesday), Brenda Buchanan (Thursday), and Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson (Friday).
Kate Flora: A perfect example of how dazed and dizzy I am is that yesterday, I wrote a whole post, pressed the button to have it post on the website, and it disappeared into the ether. That’s how things feel these days. Between the constant barrage of requests for money from everyone in the country, nerves about the election, and the disjointed effect of the time change, at least once a day I’m convinced that my brain has failed.
New England Crime Bake. That should be fun if I can only organize my thoughts and remember how to do a power point. It also says I’m going to moderate a panel on Sunday. It says there’s a dentist appointment, a hair appointment, two more “maintenance’ appointments and then a quick trip back to Maine to preview the marvelous Gardens Aglow at the Coastal Maine Botanical Garden. When, exactly, are those quiet late fall days sitting at my desk writing?
What does that look like? Unlike those of my fellow writers who are plotters or pantsers, I’m a cooker. I don’t write out elaborate notes. Nor do I sit down and start writing and see where the story goes. I start working on the plot and wondering. Wandering around for a few months asking questions. Who was killed? Why were they killed? Who killed them? Who else wanted them dead, and why? What will I put at the crime scene that will help the investigation? And so forth. I often say that, like Paddington Bear, during this process I should wear a little tag that says ‘please look after this author. Thank you.’ And on the back, when I’m found staring blankly at the frozen peas, ‘If found, please return to…’ and my address.
