Category: Editorial Tricks

Contact Us Today for a
Free Consultation

Cut Up Your Scenes

Finish Your Book in Three Drafts (3D), the third book in the Book Architecture trilogy, came accompanied by a wealth of writing know-how in the form of 9 bonus PDFs. We are opening up the vault for the first time and publishing them here: one blog at a time. Behold, PDF #2.

Before you get started here you may want to watch THIS VIDEO. When I tour the country, I usually ask the audience to save all questions until the end, but this is one subject where people can’t seem to control themselves.

“You mean, you actually print the manuscript out and cut it up?”

“Is that every scene in the whole book right there?”

“I don’t have a table big enough for that!”

So I wanted to show you some real people.

This is Liz; Liz is doing it. There are her orange scissors. Closest to her in the front row are some meaty scenes, where multiple paragraphs and pages are paper-clipped together. And there, in the center of her table, are those scraps of paper she has been dragging around from draft to draft that probably belong in this pile:

We call that the detritus pile, because that is one of the nastiest words for “trash.”

We heard Biz talk about how terrifying it is to toss something out: “What if the best line ever written by a human being is somehow stuck under that pile?” Well, as Ro$hi tells Biz in one of the deleted scenes, “We don’t have anything to fear, because your creativity is inexhaustible.” Besides, forward motion cures many ills.

Here’s another example of a work-in-progress:

After Wendy cut up her scenes, she was able to move her individual scene names around with more confidence. In the foreground you can see her scene list of the good, bad, forgotten, and missing. And in the background is her outline, the one she was able to put together after her messy draft—as opposed to those complex outlines done before any work has begun that I have rarely seen truly work.

And eventually it looks like this:

This is the end of Sondra’s process in preparation for her method draft. Her scenes have been grouped and rearranged, and some have been dropped. The Post-it notes on top of each scene contain instructions that she wanted to remind herself about when she rewrote each scene.

Sondra was writing a memoir about her sister, who died of cancer. When Sondra and I met for the final time to put all of her scenes together, we convened in a room at Grub Street, Boston’s incredible writing center. There was nothing in the room at all except this one book, a poetry collection from a college writing program whose front cover simply read, “MARGIE”— which was Sondra’s sister’s name. I think we both felt at liberty to follow our instincts that day, to trust ourselves to envision the structure a little more deeply.

The Method & The Mystery


a guest blog by Kimberly Savage

I make it a point in life: never argue with Albert Einstein. Who knows what he had in mind when he wrote the words above but, to me, he describes the mysterious process of writing perfectly. And how we surprise ourselves along the way.

Applying the method

Starting the first draft of my work-in-progress, I had a sketch of what my book was about: the characters, the setting, the ideas. Enter the Book Architecture Method which both helps you organize the material you already know, and helps you discover things you didn’t know about your book.

I wrote my first draft and then, following the Method, I analyzed it. I figured out my theme. I recalled my scenes from memory. And I wrote down my series.

If you don’t know series, it is the quintessential Book Architecture concept. I think of it as an archetype, which can be a character, a setting, an object, a phrase, an idea, a theme. For more information on series, check out this PDF from Stuart’s third book, Finish Your Book in Three Drafts.

Many of my series that I had in my mind stayed mostly the same, maybe with some cutting and stitching. But I also found I’d started something new in the draft that stood out: Biology.


What the method reveals

Being able to take a step back is what any writing method should help you do…or else it’s not doing its job. In my case, I saw:

  • Biology is my main character’s favorite school subject.
  • There’s some subtext about genetics – since the character is half Native American.
  • Add to that, the character is a cutter, so there’s blood.
  • And, oh yeah, there’s rumination on life and death – what we know, what we don’t know.

I made Biology a series. If I was wrong, and it turned out to be a dead end, I could always erase it from my series grid.

Then I wrote my second draft, and a funny thing happened. Biology became a big deal in the story. I used it as a metaphor, a scene-builder, a character-enhancer. It became one of the main series of the story. It made my story much stronger, much deeper.

Biology as a series surprised me, because it wasn’t in my head when I’d started. And if I hadn’t been looking for new series and surprises, I would’ve missed it.

Get the big picture

Using the Method is an amazing way to harness the mystery of your own writing.

  • You go beyond what you already know about your story,
  • You identify the mysteries that you’ve created, and
  • You figure out how to make your story stronger with them.

You still have lots of room for all the things you have yet to discover.

So go ahead, give the Method a try. Your story will be stronger for it. And you’ll make Einstein so proud.


Begin at the beginning: what in media res really means

I have been making an unofficial list of the “world’s most commonly used writing axioms,” and I’m pretty sure in media res needs to be on there. In media res means “in the middle of things.”


What is in media res?

Writers are advised to start their stories with an action that will capture the reader’s attention. This action should be compelling—it cannot waste too many precious words on exposition, or setting the scene. This action should inspire curiosity. 

So far, so good. In the last twenty years, however, in media res has taken on a much narrower definition. Now it means something like: Choose a scene from the middle of your narrative (when approached in a chronological sense), then spend the next chunk of the story leading up to it again until the reader can figure out just exactly what the first scene meant after all.


In media res was originally used as a tool for selection. It helped Greek playwrights figure out where to begin their narrative. Presenting a scene first indicates its importance to the whole, just as deciding which scene will come last indicates the dramatist’s moral intent through the fate of the characters.


But the dramatist did not go back and fill in the details of what happened previously. They assumed that the audience would already have this information (which battle had been fought, who had been the victor, what situation these characters found themselves in, etc.).

Where in media res goes wrong

By contrast, today’s writer who begins in media res starts us off with a lone, out-of-sequence scene. Then what can amount to half the book is told in essence as a flashback. Readers can find this disconcerting because, basically, we forget about the scene that started everything off. We may harbor a mild curiosity as to why that scene has been given such special placement and when it might recur.


Selecting the right scene to begin with

I would argue for two ways out of this current dilemma.

If you are going to begin with a scene from the middle of the narrative, why not continue to utilize the narrative possibilities of flashbacks and multiple concurrent timelines to ensure that your first scene does not look like an ugly duckling?

Perhaps a simpler solution to the in media res dilemma, once you have begun in the “thick of it,” don’t backtrack. If your first scene engenders interest, if it implies a world where there is something at stake and immediately transports the reader into a situation with dramatic tension, why not just continue from there?

The Five Rules of Writing Flashbacks

Reposted from my guest blog on Writing Forward

“Flashback” is a term that we are all familiar with, even if its definition has grown a little vague. We sense that a flashback is something that happened before… but happened before what? Where we are now?

clocks pixabay Efraimstochter

The reading present

In other words, what are we flashing back from? In order to answer this question, I’d like to introduce a companion term to flashback: the reading present. The reading present is the main narrative through line, the most commonly visited time period, the one whose beginning and end most closely mirrors the beginning and end of the book as a whole.

There are good reasons to leave the reading present:

  • Deepen characterization
  • Create suspense
  • Introduce other characters and events that will eventually matter a great deal to our outcome

But there are also bad reasons to use flashback, not morally bad reasons of course, just whoops-I-painted-myself-in-a-wicked-corner bad reasons.

Five Rules of Writing Flashbacks

To assist with this quandary, I offer the following five rules of writing flashbacks:

  1. When we flash back, we do so for a reason. And — get this — we reveal this reason to the reader. This reveal can be subtle, but readers need to be able to make some kind of connection to why we just went there or they will feel lost.
  2. Don’t leave the reading present for so long that readers lose their bearings upon return. In other words, don’t fall in love with another time period and dally there, favoring it over the reading present. The reader will wonder if that is when your story really takes place, and whether everything else has been a flash-forward, which gets confusing (see rule #5). Readers need exactly one reading present. Whatever the narrative frame, to wherever it jumps around, the reader’s expectation is that they will return to the reading present. There they feel most at home and know to expect to find out what happens next.
  3. Don’t flash back for too short a time, such as a few lines or a paragraph, which is really more like presenting a memory. Instead, stay in the reading present and recount the past events through a character’s thoughts. When you do flash back, do so for an entire scene, with all the benefits that a scene brings: dynamic action, a change in the state of affairs, development of the theme. This doesn’t mean a flashback can be only one scene long. It can be longer provided readers aren’t lost upon their return (see rule #2).
  4. If you are going to use multiple timelines, present each timeline chronologically. Help a reader out. If we are flashing back from a through line that takes place in 2002 to a through line that takes place in 1993, at least have the events in 1993 take place sequentially. (You know, June, 1993 in one flashback, July, 1993 in the next flashback, October 1993, etc.) We need to feel the narrative driving forward at all times.
  5. Flashbacks work, but flash-forwards don’t usually work. Flashbacks work because they correspond with our psychology. When we have a problem, we think back to an earlier time when something else happened. Then we figure something out about ourselves or our world (this is how therapy works, I think). If someone asks about your past, you can discourse on it rather freely even though you might end up changing the subject. If someone asks about the future, all but the most reckless souls will admit they don’t know yet.

Examples of fabulous flashbacks

For a great example of the reading present (or the viewing present, in this case) and some fabulous use of flashbacks, watch the film Slumdog Millionaire. The reading present here is the quiz show, Who Wants to be a Millionaire? The main character, Jamal, answers each question successfully, much to the surprise of all involved, by flashing back to specific events in his past and coming back to the viewing present with the correct response. There is even a third timeline — a lot to ask of today’s movie-going public — of Jamal being interrogated by the police. But it works because each timeline in presented in chronological order.

Check out my second book, Book Architecturefor further analysis of Slumdog Millionaire, and many more writing rules strategies.

When we talk about flashbacks, the reading present, chronologies, and multiple timelines, we are talking about the general category called order, right? And I say that if we’re talking about order… then we might as well have some!