Editing and voice exercise

[Hex]

Sorry! I got caught up in life stuff -- it was all three dimensional and everything -- but I'm back now. Phew.

Our Mystery Benefactor has donated a piece of writing (thank you!) and I suggest we try to treat it as if we were editing and tightening rather than rewriting, if that makes sense?

Let's see what happens.


----

“It’s a hole for goodness sake, that’s all,” Mum said.

Everyone stared at it. It might be a hole but it had not right being here.”

It was very large the size of my Dad’s shed, which had been on top of it.

“But it’s in Mrs Peterbottom’s garden and she’s going to be so mad,” one of my brothers found the nerve to ask.

Mrs Peterbottom was a neighbour who lived next door, and Mum and her, had never got on. Not since they both entered Jam at the local fete and Mum said Mrs P-bottom had used her recipe. I doubted it myself as Mum had only had two adore spells – one she’d used in the jam and the other, I’d used myself. So not Mrs P. Just me. And mum would kill me if she knew.

I dutifully stared into the hole. It was still smouldering. “When is she returning home?” I asked, wondering if we’d time to have a load of soil delivered and fill it in.

“Soon”, I hope, Mum said walking towards the house. She always was quick tempered, my Mum.

We all trailed after her, my four brothers and me. Mum threw together tea, a plate of over cooked spaghetti and what should be bolognese sauce, but it didn’t take like it.

“Should we go see if its still there,” Tom, my youngest brother said. He was thirteen and three years younger than me. I was just about to anwser when a woosh echoed down the chimney followed by a cloud of thick black smoke., and we fled from the room into the kitchen. Clearly Mrs P Bottome had returned.

Mum, still with marigolds on headed out the kitchen door - this was going to be good.

At least I thought so until, the sink blew up. . .

 

[Jo Zebedee]

Ok, half an hour to kill before I go pick the kids up, so... not sure how much I should be changing it, but if I was writing the scene (which, I think, is what's required), I'd have:



"It's a hole, for goodness sake," Mum said.

We all stared at it. It might just be a hole, but it had no right being there. Or being the size it was; as big as Dad's shed. The same shed that had been on top of it...

"But it's in Mrs Peterbottom's garden." Graham looked nervous. "She's going to be so mad."

She would. Mum and Mrs Peterbottom had never gotten on. Not since the fete incident, when Mum said Mrs P-bottom had stolen her recipe. Which wasn't true: Mum's missing adore spell - she'd had two -- hadn't been in Mrs P's jam. I'd taken it. And if Mum ever finds out, I'm dead. Like, really dead. In a flash dead.

I bit my lip and stared into the hole. It was still smouldering. "When does she get home?" And how long would it take to get some soil and fill it?

"Soon, I hope." Mum walked towards the house. Next door, Mrs P's house stood in ominous silence. Like it knew.

The five of us trailed behind Mum, keeping our distance. She dished up dinner, throwing over cooked spaghetti, all slithery and curled, onto plates. She poured what was supposed to be bolognese sauce over it. I fought not to wrinkle my nose: it didn't smell like any bolognese I'd ever had, but I wasn't about to be the one to tell her. Not in this mood.

"Should we go and see if it's still there?" Tom might had been the youngest of us - he'd only just turned a teenager - but he was brave enough to face down the devil for fun.

"Mayb -- " I turned at a whoosh echoing down the chimney. A cloud of thick smoke thickened and we had to retreat to the kitchen. It would appear Mrs P-bottom had arrived.

"That's it!" Mum turned from the sink, her marigolds still on. "Coming into my own house!"

She headed out the kitchen door, and we followed. This was going to be good. And it was, right until the sink blew up....



I'm surprised how much I wanted to change - a lot of the info of who was there, that they were four boys to one girl, which I thought I could get in later, probably, and a few more action tags as opposed to dialogue. I also added/took away some of the dialogue, just to make it fit.

And now I see I've done it all wrong. Except... if I was tightening and editing I'd have done something similar to this. I'll try to do it right, now.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

“It’s a hole, for goodness sake, that’s all,” Mum said.

Everyone stared at it. It might be a hole but it had no right being here. It was very large the size of my Dad’s shed, which had been on top of it.

“But it’s in Mrs Peterbottom’s garden and she’s going to be so mad,” one of my brothers found the nerve to ask.

Mrs Peterbottom was the neighbour who lived next door, and Mum and her had never got on. Not since they both entered Jam at the local fete and Mum said Mrs P-bottom had used her recipe. I doubted it, as Mum had only two adore spells – one she’d used in the jam and the other, I’d used myself. So not Mrs P. Just me. And mum would kill me if she knew.

I dutifully stared into the hole. It was still smouldering. “When is she returning home?” I asked, wondering if we’d time to have a load of soil delivered and fill it in.

“Soon, I hope," Mum said walking towards the house. She always was quick tempered, my Mum.

We all trailed after her, my four brothers and me. Mum threw together tea, a plate of over cooked spaghetti and what should be bolognese sauce, but it didn’t taste like it.

“Should we go see if its still there,” Tom, my youngest brother, said. He was thirteen and three years younger than me. I was just about to answer when a woosh echoed down the chimney followed by a cloud of thick black smoke, and we fled from the room into the kitchen. Clearly Mrs P Bottom had returned.

Mum, still with marigolds on headed out of the kitchen - this was going to be good.

At least I thought so, until the sink blew up. . .[/QUOTE]

Sorry. Should I delete the earlier one or leave it in as a talking spot of which is the type of edit we'd do. Help me, oh Scottish witch!

 

[allmywires]

“It’s a hole for goodness sake, that’s all,” Mum said.

Everyone stared at it. It might be a hole, but it had no right being here - it was very large, the size of my Dad’s shed, which had been on top of it.

“But it’s in Mrs Peterbottom’s garden, and she’s going to be so mad,” one of my brothers found the nerve to pipe up.

Mrs Peterbottom was the woman who lived next door. Mum and her had never got on, not since they both entered jams at the local fete and Mum accused Mrs P-bottom of using her recipe. I doubted it myself since Mum had only had two adore spells – one she’d used in the jam and the other that I’d used myself. So not Mrs P. Just me. And Mum would kill me if she knew.

I dutifully stared into the hole, which was still smouldering. “When's she coming home?” I asked, wondering if we’d time to have a load of soil delivered and fill it in.

“Soon, I hope," Mum said, walking towards the house. She always was quick tempered, my mum.

We all trailed after her, my four brothers and me. Mum threw together tea: a plate of over-cooked spaghetti and what should have been bolognese sauce. It didn’t taste like it.

“Should we go see if its still there?” Tom, my youngest brother, asked. He was thirteen and three years younger than me. I was just about to answer when a whoosh flew down the chimney, followed by a cloud of thick black smoke, and we fled from the room into the kitchen. Clearly Mrs P-Bottom had returned.

Mum, still with marigolds on, headed out the kitchen door. Oh, this was going to be good. At least I thought so.

Then the sink blew up.

~*~

My effort - didn't read springs' so as not to be influenced. Hope this was what was intended!

 

[HareBrain]

What the?

I hit "quote" and masses of white space appeared in the text. Didn't anyone else find this? (I'm using Chrome.)

 

[allmywires]

Yep. I had to c&p instead.

 

[Hex]

Sorry -- I don't think I did anything different from normal.

That was harder than I thought it'd be. My head hurts.

---

"It’s just a hole, for goodness sake,” Mum said.

Everyone stared at it.

Maybe it was just a hole, but it had no right being there. No right being so big either.

“In Mrs Peterbottom’s garden!" John squeaked. "She’ll go mad.”

Mum and Mrs P hadn't spoken since the fete jam debacle when Mum accused Mrs P of using her recipe. Unlikely. Mum had only two adore spells – one she’d used in the jam and one I had.

She'd eviscerate me if she knew.

I peered into the hole (still smouldering) and wondered if we'd time to get a load of soil delivered. “When's she coming home?”

“Soon, I hope." Mum marched towards the house. Quick-tempered, my Mum.

We trailed after her, my four brothers and me. Mum threw together tea: over-cooked spaghetti and something she said was Bolognese sauce.

“Should we go see if it's still there?” Tom was thirteen, three years younger than me. I was about to answer when a whoosh echoed down the chimney followed by a cloud of thick black smoke. We fled into the kitchen.

Apparently Mrs P Bottom had returned.

Mum, still with marigolds on, headed out the kitchen door. This was going to be good.

Then the sink blew up.

 

[Mouse]

Quickly then.

---

“It’s a hole for goodness sake, that’s all,” Mum said.

Everyone stared at it. It might be a hole but it had no right being there.

It was very large. The size of my Dad’s shed, which had been on top of it.

“But it’s in Mrs Peterbottom’s garden and she’s going to be so mad,” one of my brothers said.

Mrs Peterbottom lived next door, and she and Mum had never got on. Not since they'd both entered jam at the local fete and Mum said Mrs P-bottom had used her recipe. I doubted it myself, as Mum had only had two adore spells – one she’d used in the jam and the other, I’d used myself. So not Mrs P. Just me. And mum would kill me if she knew.

I stared into the still-smouldering hole. “When is she returning home?” I asked, wondering if we’d time to have a load of soil delivered to fill it in.

“Soon, I hope," Mum said, walking towards the house. She was always quick tempered, my Mum.

We all trailed after her, my four brothers and me. Mum threw together tea, a plate of over-cooked spaghetti and what should have Bolognese sauce, but didn’t taste like it.

“Should we go see if it's still there?” Tom, my youngest brother, asked. He was thirteen, and three years younger than me. I was just about to answer when a whoosh echoed down the chimney followed by a cloud of thick black smoke. We fled from the room into the kitchen. Mrs P-Bottom had returned.

Mum, still with her marigolds on, headed out the kitchen door. This was going to be good.

At least I thought so. Until the sink blew up.

 

[AnyaKimlin]

I may have rewritten too much, I haven't read anyone else's yet. I desperately tried not to.

“It’s a hole for goodness sake!” Mum said.

Everyone stared at it. It might be a hole but it had no right being here; a hole so big that it had swallowed our dad’s shed.

“But it’s in Mrs Peterbottom’s garden.” My brother, Mikey, stared at the fence separating us from the neighbour from hell and rubbed his hand through his dark, curly hair.

Both quick tempered, Mum and Mrs P had never got on, well at least, not since the jam incident at the local fete. Mum had accused Mrs P of stealing her special recipe. But I knew that was not true because there were only two adore spells; one Mum had put in her jam and the other I had taken. Me not Mrs P. If Mum ever found out I would be the one smouldering and not a hole in the garden. I watched residual smoke rise out of it.

“When is she returning home?” I asked, wondering if we had time to fill it in.

“Soon, I hope.” Mum turned on her heels and marched towards the house, with my four brothers and me trailing after her.

She threw together our tea, a plate of over-cooked spaghetti and what appeared to be bolognese sauce. It did not taste the way it was supposed to. We all sat down and tucked in. All of us knew better than to say anything when Mum was in this mood; she was ready to blow.

“Should we go see if it’s still there?” Tom, my youngest brother by three years looked at me. His face was orange from the gloopy mess he had eaten.

I was just about to answer when a whoosh echoed down the chimney, followed by a cloud of thick black smoke. We fled into the kitchen. Mrs P had returned.

Mum, with her marigolds on, headed out of the kitchen door.

This was going to be fun.

Then the sink blew up. . .

 

[chrispenycate]

I started to play with it, then tried to understand how dad's shed, once where the hole now existed (in a sort of negative form of existence, as holes do), had been in a neighbour's garden, particularly one whom the family, as a whole, disapproved of.

Anyway, nobody told me the target size (do you suspect all these seventy-five word epics are having an effect on me?).

“It’s a hole, for goodness sake, that’s all,” Mum said.

Everyone stared at it. Just a hole, but it had no right to be where dad's shed had been, and as big as it.
.
“But it’s in Mrs Peterbottom’s garden; she’s going to be so mad.” one of my brothers found the nerve to say.

Mrs Peterbottom was our next door neighbour, and Mum and she hadn't got on since the local fête where Mum claimed Mrs P-bottom had used her jam recipe. I doubted it, as Mum had only had two 'adore' spells – one she’d used on the jam and the other I’d used myself. So, not Mrs P; just me. And mum would kill me if she knew.

I dutifully stared into the still smouldering hole.

“When does she get home?” I asked, wondering if we’d time to have a load of soil delivered and fill it in.

“Soon, I hope,” Mum said, walking towards the house. Mum'd always been quick tempered.

We trailed after her, four brothers and me. She threw together a plate of flabby spaghetti and supposedly bolognese sauce, which didn’t taste like it.

“Should we go see if its still there?” asked Tom, my youngest brother. He was thirteen, three years less than me.

I was just about to answer when a whoosh echoed down the chimney with a cloud of thick black smoke, and we fled to the kitchen. Clearly, Mrs P.Bottom had returned.

Mum, still with marigolds on, headed out the kitchen door - this was going to be good, I thought, at least until the sink blew up. . . .

 

[J Riff]

“It’s a hole.” said Mom incredulously.

Everyone stared at it. It was a hole, a very large one, as big as Dad’s shed, which had been on top of it.

“Mrs Peterbottom’s garden is gone, and she’s going to blow a brainfuse.” snickered Billy.

Mrs Peterbottom was the next door neighbour, and Mum and her had never got on. Not since they both jammed at the local blues club and Mrs. Peterbottom claimed Mom was ripping off her licks. I doubted it myself as Mum had only two licks– one standard she always used in jams and the other stolen from BB King.
I stared into the hole. It was smoldering like Grandad's pipe, only a lot bigger.
“When is Mrs. Peterbottom returning home?” I asked, wondering if we’d time to move out of town.
“Soon”, I hope," Mum said. "Let her try and blame this on me."
We all went inside, my four brothers, Mum and me. Mum made Kraft dinner, but no-one would touch it.
“Should we go see if its still there?” said little Tommy. He was thirteen and not terribly bright. I was just about to answer when something exploded and a large object fell down the chimney into the living room, chasing us into into the kitchen.
"Is it Santa?" said Billy, and we all swatted him lovingly on his misshapen head.
Mum, clutching her Telecaster, headed out the kitchen door - this was going to be good.

At least I thought so until, for no discernible reason, the sink blew up.