Freedom for All – Entry #3

Dark Ava is back. Man, that didn’t take long.

The theme this week is “Best Laid Plans,” and I chose to write on the prompt “write about a plan that goes wrong, but for the better.” I’m posting my story rather than immediately jumping into the details surrounding its creation. I’ll post my thoughts on how/why I wrote it at the bottom.

Before I start, I will say it’s inspired by one of my favourite songs, “River Below” by Billy Talent. If you haven’t heard of them, go listen! They’re a great Canadian punk-rock band and I don’t care if you say it’s emo, I love them. Always have.

Anyways, here it is.

TRIGGER WARNING: mental health, suicide, and terrorism.


The twisted bundle of wires is a brain and the hot soldering iron is my scalpel. Stolen books on bombmaking are opened and scattered around my operating table. It’s meticulous and messy work, but like any operation, it will save lives. The world, in fact.

It’s been almost two decades since the Elites developed their mind control program. At the start, they packaged it as a social website, tricking people into using it with shiny bells and whistles. Then, when smartphones became popular, the Elites transformed their program into an addictive app.

It didn’t take long for the world to eat it up. It spread, propagating like a virus. Now, everyone is infected. They’re part of the hive mind, enslaved and doomed to follow the Elites’ orders for all of eternity.

In any population, there will always be outliers. Ones that can’t be controlled. I’m one of them. It’s my purpose to stop the Elites and save the world.

I’m not alone. There are more outliers across the world, but only a few. We call ourselves the Crimson Warriors. We operate on the dark web, but even that’s not fully safe these days.

The Elites think one day they’ll control everyone, including us outliers, but they’re wrong. I’m the chosen outlier. I’m destined to break the chains and shackles. It’s a big task, but I don’t have a choice. I need to do this for everyone.

My friends and family rejected me when they found out I wanted to rebel against the Elites. My wife left me and took custody of my kid. My parents cut me out. I haven’t seen them in years. They’re under the Elites’ control, and until I act, they’ll remain lost to me.

Even though I’ve been abandoned, I will sacrifice myself for my family. For everyone. I’ll be a hero once this is over; famous for liberating the planet. I’ll be dead, but I’ll be everywhere. They’ll erect statues of me. Moreover, my family will be free. Everyone will be free.

The Crimson Warriors and I bought experimental black-market tech called Neurolinks that allow us to communicate through our thoughts. If I turn my eyecam on, they can see what I see, and we can hear each other in our heads. It’s the only safe way left to communicate. The Elites watch everything—phones, emails, texts, apps, internet. But they can’t hack the Neurolinks. Not yet, at least.

I pull more wires out of my toolkit. Explosives are part of this contraption, but it’s safe. I made sure when I researched and double-checked with the Crimson Warriors.

Cross those wires, Big Echo whispers in my head. If you get caught, they’ll try to dismantle it. But if you cross the wires, they won’t know which ones to cut. It could buy you some time.

I listen and cross the wires, soldering them into place. The scent is comforting.

Big Echo is a war vet. He was on a bomb squad and knows a thing or two about making them. Before the Neurolink, I had to do my own research. Now that I have Big Echo to help, things are going much better.

Mine’s ready, Rivers, Honor’s Bastard says. I’ll take out their New York Office. Big Echo, you got Miami. And you, Rivers—you’re the main show. Corporate Tower, downtown San Francisco.

“Roger,” I say out loud.

You got this, boss, Honor’s Bastard says. Man, you’re going to be a legend after this. You’ll be front-page news. Rivers, the savior of society! They’ll call you the Liberator! Has the ring of a superhero, doesn’t it?

You are a hero, boss, Big Echo says.

“Well, we are a team, boys.” I finish up the last of the work on the explosive.

Thanks to you. You’re the mastermind, Rivers. We all know it. No need to be humble.

A few other voices cheer in agreement, and I smile for the first time in months.

Freedom, someone says. Freedom for all.

“Freedom for all,” I repeat, still grinning.


D-day. My backpack is heavy with explosives as I approach the Elites’ headquarters. It’s raining and cold. Downtown San Francisco is busy and littered with human feces like the corporate cesspool it is.

The sidewalks and roads are congested, like always. Ever since the Elites mandated electric cars a year ago, traffic has gotten quieter. I don’t mind electric cars, but I miss having a choice. I miss being free.

The normal morning rush lets me blend in. I wear my old suit and tie from when I was a corporate slave myself. It’s a cloak I must wear so I can unleash my dagger. I’m not a wolf in sheep’s clothing—I’m a savior in the skin of the enslaved.

I pull out my phone. It’s offline because its only purpose is to act as a detonator. The app I designed is cliché—it’s a giant red button on the screen that, when touched, will activate the bomb in my backpack.

Cliché or not, all I need to do is get in the building and press it. No one will care about my creativity once I liberate them. They’ll just see me as the hero I am.

Despite running a company that controls the world, the Elites have little security. I have been scoping out their headquarters for weeks and haven’t seen anything that poses a threat. Individuals from all walks of life can stroll in unimpeded. I suppose you don’t need protection when you have everyone under your thumb.

Their arrogance will be their undoing. There are still outliers. There’s still me—no, us, the Crimson Warriors.

Neurolinks online, Big Echo says. What do you say, boss? Ready for liberation?

“Freedom for all,” I mutter under my breath. “Freedom for all.”

Freedom for all! A chorus of voices echoes in my head.  

“Freedom for all,” I repeat louder this time, unable to help myself. A nearby woman gives me a strange look, her eyes dead and empty like all those enslaved.

I ignore her. It’s not like she can hear me. The app probably filtered out my words, just like any non-conformity.

Careful boss, Big Echo warns. That woman seemed a bit surprised by you.

“She’s been programmed,” I say under my breath. “Her eyes were empty. That’s how you tell. Dead eyes, Big Echo. Remember that.”

Roger, Big Echo says.

I’m onsite, Honour’s Bastard says. Ready to detonate.

The Elite’s headquarters is only a few blocks away. I walk as fast as I can. My burden is hefty, but my resolve carries me forward with ease.

I think about my life as I weave through the crowds—it’s not much I’m losing. Not really. My ex-wife was taken by the Elites years ago. My parents, too. My kid is already programmed and online, a corporate slave to be.

If my sacrifice frees them, it will be worth it. Either way, I’m never seeing them again.

You’re close, boss, Honor’s Bastard says. Once you’re onsite, we’ll commence our plan and detonate in unison.

I approach the entrance of the massive skyscraper. It reflects the grey sky and cuts into the clouds, well above all the other corporate towers. Marble steps lead to the entrance like a dais, and I can smell the chlorine from their indoor fountain despite the stench outside.

The enslaved bump past me, all pulling out ID badges and chatting to each other about work. At times, I’ve found myself envying them. They don’t have the same responsibility that I do.

“Hey,” someone nearby says, “you lost?”

I turn around to see a large man in a black suit and dark sunglasses looking down at me. Security. How have I not seen them before? He sports an earpiece and I recognize his shades as TechGlasses. They don’t have x-ray vision, but rather have facial recognition and direct access to corporate databases. They can pull up someone’s profile instantly.

Those glasses can identify you, boss. Get out of there!  

“I’m late for a meeting,” I say, looking at his black, polished shoes.

“With whom?” I hear his glasses beeping. “I ran recognition on you, and it seems like you’ve been unemployed for some time now, Mr. Rivers.”

Shit, Big Echo says. Say you’re an entrepreneur.

“I’m an entrepreneur.” I square my shoulders, feigning haughty arrogance. “I have new tech I want to show to your marketing team. An algorithm, actually. We booked this meeting weeks ago. Listen, if they’re not interested anymore, I can take it to your competitors out in Silicon Valley.”

“Let me confirm with their team,” the man says.

This is bad, boss. I can’t hack their system fast enough to create a fake meeting.

What do I do? I ask in my head.

Run inside. If you go fast enough, you can still detonate.

I wrap my sweaty hand around the detonator in my pocket.

“Yeah, I got a guy here. Says he’s an entrepreneur with a new algorithm for marketing?”’ Security asks, speaking into their earpiece. “Uh-huh. Yep. Got it.”

Freedom for all, Big Echo says.

They took your wife and kid, Rivers, Honor’s Bastard says. Your whole life. They took your whole LIFE.

He’s right. My family was my whole life. My heartbeat picks up and my sweaty grasp tightens around my phone.

It’s the only way to free them, Big Echo says. You know it’s the only way, boss. Some people might die, but they’re all enslaved, anyways. And no war is won without sacrifice. No one obtains freedom without blood.

My heart races. The security guard frowns, his shoulders tensing. I notice two more coming down the stairs towards me, each as large and intimidating as the next. They’re also wearing TechGlasses, keeping their dead eyes hidden.   

They’re onto you, Big Echo says. It’s now or never, boss.

I think of my kid. My wife. Their faces. I want one last moment with them before I detonate. I remember the day my son was born. I smile. What a beautiful day.

You have to go now! Big Echo shouts. FREEDOM FOR ALL!

FREEDOM FOR ALL, the chorus screams.

“FREEDOM FOR ALL!” I bellow as I run.

I dash up the stairs as I hear someone shout stop him. I shove myself through the glass doors. I pull out my phone and unlock it with my fingerprint. The app pops up. The red button flashes.

Now or never, boss!

Shaking, I lower my finger to detonate.

Then I seize and convulse. My fingers cramp and my hand turns into an involuntary claw. Pain ripples through me, searing and electric, and I hear the crowd gasp as I collapse. My phone slides away.

A taser. Fuck! It will throw off my Neurolink—maybe even fry it!

A body slams on top of me and their weight crushes my ribs. I can’t breathe. I’m still convulsing. The scorching, crushing pain is distant, like it belongs to someone else.

I still have my goal! I have to liberate them! It’s up to me! I’m the only one who can do it!

I stare at my phone on the shiny tiles. The red button flashes. I roar as I try to reach for it, but the security guard grabs my wrist and yanks my arm behind my back.

“It’s a bomb!” A bystander cries, and screams erupt everywhere. Feet stomp past me as the crowd rushes out the door. Nearby, glass smashes. Sirens wail.

It’s over.

  The crushing weight is too much. I try, one last time, to breathe, but it’s futile. I black out.


I come to with an oxygen mask on my face. Blue and red lights flash all around me. My mouth is dry. I taste iron. My vision is blurry. I try to move, but my arms are restrained. The smell of chlorine is gone, replaced by that of sterility.

I look down and see I’m strapped to a bed in the back of an ambulance. There are IVs hooked up to me, pumping poison into my veins. Probably full of nanobots. They’re already starting the programming. I’m woozy, sluggish, and stuck in place. I can’t fight it.

“Lucky we got him in time,” someone says. “His bag was full of explosives, which were connected to a device that let him detonate with his phone. He could have taken out the whole floor with what he was packing, killing hundreds, if not thousands.”

“Who is he?” I spot a grizzled man in a suit talking to the security guard from earlier. The newcomer has a gun and badge strapped to his waist. A cop. He’s drenched from the rain, his balding head shiny and damp. He has sharp brown eyes, though; unlike everyone else, he doesn’t look enslaved.

“Facial recognition says he’s Tom Rivers. He’s thirty-one and unemployed. We ran him through our security system. He’s been hanging around here for weeks.”

“What do you know about him?” the cop asks.

“He used to be a software engineer at a big tech company but was fired two years ago after he started spouting off about mind control conspiracies. His wife divorced him and he lost custody of his kid shortly after. Doesn’t look like he has had contact with his parents since then, either. And despite his history of mental health problems, he hasn’t filled a prescription in a long time.”

I try to speak, but my tongue is too thick to make words. I need to tell them that I don’t have mental health problems. The Elite made that all up once they found out I was onto them. They even tried to hide nanobots in the pills!

If I’m right, and this cop is an outlier, maybe I can pass the message to him. I try communicating through Neurolink, but I’m met with silence.

You there, boss? Big Echo responds, his voice slow and fuzzy. We got busted, too. The Elites knew. There must have been a rat. Rivers? You there?

“I won’t ask how you got his private medical information.” The cop shifts on his feet, looking uncomfortable. “Anything else?”

“He has a website called the ‘Crimson Warriors.’ It’s a conspiracy theory website. Says that social media is a form of mind control that’s enslaved the population, and all the tech companies are in on it. Calls CEOs ‘the Elites.’”

“Anyone else using the site?”

“There’s some traffic, but not a lot of engagement. Based on our analysis it would appear he’s a one-man show.”

The cop shakes his head. “No such thing as privacy anymore.”

“If it wasn’t for us,” A nearby man in a suit—a dead-eyed Elite!—chimes in, “you’d be chasing your tails for weeks trying to figure out this psycho.”

The cop sighs. “Anything else, then?”

“Recently,” the security guard continues, “he posted about new tech called ‘Neurolinks,’ saying it lets him communicate with his network globally, but based on what we know, there’s no such thing as a fully functional Neurolink.”

Shit! They know, boss! No! The Neurolinks were all we had left!

“Any chance there could be?” The cop asks.

“No, that tech is still years off.” The Elite rolls his dead eyes, lying like the devil he is. “We’ve done a lot of testing, but it never goes well. The subjects usually die.”

“Right. I remember reading about those poor test monkeys in the news,” the cop says. “My guess is this asshole has untreated schizophrenia.”

“He does,” Security adds, quieter this time. “But you didn’t hear it from us.”

“They’re lying,” I croak. All heads swivel to me. “They’re all lying. They’re lying!” I thrash against the restraints. They have to know! I can still get through to them! “You’re all slaves! Slaves to the Elites! I was trying to help you! I just want you to be free! I want freedom for all! Freedom for all!”

“Give him a sedative.” The cop sounds bored, not enlightened like he should be! “And whatever other drugs he needs.”

Boss, they’re going to cut your Neurolink! You have to fight them! You’ll be as lost as all the other enslaved else if you don’t do something!

I struggle against the restraints as I watch fluid flow into my arm. I flex all my muscles, hoping I can squeeze it out. I grind my teeth. I howl like a wolf calling to the moon.

Fight it, boss!

The restraints cut into my wrists, but I won’t stop fighting. I don’t want to be enslaved! I don’t want to end up like these dead-eyed sheep!

I watch helplessly as the paramedic injects something into my IV—nanobots! I feel them crawl into my veins, cold and invasive.

No! I have to stay free! It’s the only way my wife and kid stand a chance!

My vision darkens. The voices fade. My head rolls to the side, my eyes half-open.

It’s over, I tell my team. I failed. We lost. I’m sorry. You have to go on without me. Detonate if you can. We can still…save…them…

For the first time in years, I’m met with silence. Tears roll down my cheeks. The Elite…the…oh god. It wasn’t real, was it?

Wasn’t it?

Author’s Notes

Soooo…I’ll start by saying I recognize this is a pretty dark topic, but I really, really love doing unreliable narrator stories. When I saw the prompts this week I felt uninspired at first, but then I started thinking – what about exploring the idea of someone who believes they’re doing the right thing, but in reality, what they’re actually doing is really destructive? And when they’re caught, it seems like they’ve lost, but as the reader, you find out that their plans being thwarted is actually a good thing.

And thus, “Freedom for All” was born.

There’s been quite a bit of discourse recently around colonization of the mind on part of social media and tech companies. Someone recently commented that capitalism started as colonizing the planet, but now that the land has all been colonized (gross), the next place is the mind. Obviously, space comes after, but until that’s feasible, minds it is!

GROSS, but I kind of agree. Social media takes your time and sells it to advertisers. The goal is to get you to spend as much time on your phone/computer as they can. The more time you spend on social media, the more they can gather data on you and build an advertising profile, which they then sell for $$$.

If you want, you can see the profile Google has built on you. I checked mine out, and it was eerily accurate.

I do not, however, think that anyone is mind controlling us through social media (anymore than the next person, at least). But Tom Rivers, an untreated schizophrenic, sees things a different way. The story is set in the near future, maybe like 2025-2030ish? In his reality, everyone is brainwashed, and it’s up to him to sacrifice himself to save them. But in everyone else’s reality, they’re just addicted to their phone, and tech companies are using it to profit. No mind control – just regular old manipulation.

If you read the lyrics from River Below, you’ll see the inspiration I took from it. God, I love Billy Talent. Absolute kings.


Terrorism is bad and everyone that needs medication should take it. As someone with Jewish heritage, I absolutely hate the notion of conspiracies and lizard people and chem trails and MK ultra programming and whatever else there is out there. So again, if it’s not clear, THESE ARE NOT MY VIEWS.

Thanks ❤

Billy Talent Spotify:

Writing Resource: Improving Dialogue

Happy Sunday! I was browsing r/writing as always, and stumbled upon a great article regarding writing believable dialogue. It’s appropriately called 10 Tips to Help You Write Realistic Dialogue.

I found all of these tips relevant and useful. I especially liked the tip about not using corny lines during fight scenes, and how the author uses real life experience to describe what actually goes through someone’s mind during a scrap. You don’t have time to think of witty lines or insults, nor would you ever say them. You tend to be too focused on not getting hit, keeping up, and not letting exhaustion stop you from defending/attacking. I’m also speaking from real life experience here – believe it or not, martial arts happens to be one of my favourite pass times next to writing.

Another point I liked was that feelings can be conveyed through actions or descriptions. Iglesias correctly states that “…if the character is constantly telling us how s/he feels, we stop caring.” Something I’ve been working on a lot in my writing is using body language to show (not tell) how my character is feeling. In re-reading my drafts, it adds much more depth and lets the reader infer what the person is thinking, rather than cramming it down their throats through the character’s dialogue.

I think another great point to keep in mind is avoiding heavy-handed dialogue. Something that irks me (even in television) is when a character explains why someone is making a decision. I see it all the time in the Hundred. One of the characters will do something, and before I can ponder why, a different character will shout “I know you regret your previous actions, but doing this won’t change the past!” It makes me roll my eyes and irritates me. Let your readers come to their own conclusions about the character’s behaviour. It will make your story more gripping.

Another tactic I employ is acting out some of my scenes between characters. I’m no actress, but hearing things out loud  helps make things sound more realistic. If you’re stuttering or stammering, or having to pause to try and understand what you’re conveying, chances are it needs a rework. This is also kind of fun and provides some entertainment while working on a draft (for me, anyways).

Hope this helps! Share your tips/thoughts below. I would love to hear them!

Writing Podcasts: Mythcreants Podcast

I’m a Luddite at heart. While I enjoy technology, I despise social media and I’ve been resistant to the societal changes it’s brought about. I refused to get a new phone for five years, but recently I had no choice and succumbed. I’m basically an 83-year-old in a 27-year-old’s body.

Doubtless, it would be difficult to make my way as an Indie Author without social media. So I’ve decided to create some pages on Instagram and Twitter, and will be making a Facebook account soon enough. I also frequently post on Reddit, but I don’t really consider that social media. It might be the only platform besides WordPress I don’t use begrudgingly.

That all aside, another aspect of technology I’ve avoided has been Podcasts. Why, might you ask?

  1. I didn’t understand what they were, and I didn’t care to find out;
  2. I didn’t like the name “podcast” (yes, I’m ridiculous);
  3. I thought you had to have an Iphone to get them (continuing on the ridiculous train);
  4. I didn’t know any good ones, and I couldn’t be bothered to look into it (do I need to say it again?);
  5. I hate Apple, and I associated Podcasts with this company for the longest time.

However, my thirst for knowledge overpowered my stubbornness, and I invested some time in researching good podcasts (is the word a proper noun?) for writing. One that came up was the Mythcreants Podcast.

I started listening to it while I was stuck in the filing room. It was a long, boring week at work, and I got relegated there to do someone a favour. During that time, I listened to at least 10 of their shows. The verdict? These guys are fantastic.

Oren and Chris really know their stuff. Both of them are  intelligent and knowledgeable when it comes to writing and creating. The topics covered on their podcast include a wide range of subjects, such as “Describing the Environment;” “The Important of Character Likability;” and many other areas of writing I didn’t even think of.

Even if you aren’t writing SciFi or fantasy, check them out, they have a wealth of knowledge to share: Seriously, check it out!

The Red Queen Series

Spoilers ahead for the Red Queen series.

So I’m reading Victoria Aveyard’s War Storm right now. I’m four chapters in and my eyes are bleeding. If anyone has picked up the Red Queen series, you’re probably thinking I brought this on myself. You’re right, I did. But I have weakness for Young Adult (YA) novels, and sometimes it is nice to read something mindless, especially when your brain is fried from work. And let’s be real, some YA is really good!

But this series sucks. The first book was alright, but as the story drags onto it’s fourth novel, it’s verging on unreadable. My initial impression was that it was a rip off of Pierce Brown’s Red Rising, which is totally is. Truth be told, I could deal with that in the beginning.

However, the series has warped into a convoluted mess of POV (Point of View) chapters in a strange attempt to make it a GOT-level epic (GOT = Game of Thrones), for which the author lacks the skill to pull off. It also doesn’t help that the foundation of this novel is built on the well-worn trope of a female protagonist in a post-apocalyptic society, fighting to save the enslaved while plagued by tugging love interests (a set of Princes and a childhood best friend). Gag.

I think that if you have skills and talent, you can pull of a trope or two. But Aveyard doesn’t. Why?

For one, her writing is riddled with adverbs and one-sentence paragraphs. I know I said the occasional adverb is not the devil, and I stand by that. But it feels like every goddamn sentence has one. I chuckled darkly. He said sadly. I moved slightly…She wrote poorly.  They make the writing cheap and lazy. And the one-sentence paragraphs are melodramatic and annoying. They do not make her writing impactful, because there are so many. SO MANY. They are irritating and relentless.

Her POVs also lack distinction. I feel like I’m reading the same boring person’s voice over and over, just with different opinions and settings. I agree now with the advice that it’s hard to pull of multiple POVs, and you have to really know what you are doing if you want to be successful. Aveyard is a good example of how not to do multiple POVs, if you want one.

The characters themselves are cliche and the volume of people being introduced is overwhelming. The A Song of Ice and Fire series has a lot of characters, as well, and its a testament to GRRM’s skill that he can pull this off without making his readers bored or confused (debatable by book five, but in the beginning it wasn’t the case). Aveyard cannot do this. The side characters she introduces are one dimensional, and quite frankly, lame. They lack anything robust and only serve as fodder to her plot. There are too many dicks on the dance floor, as I (plus Brett and Jermaine) like to say.

Aveyard also isn’t that great at describing people, places, battles or settings. One example that stands out is when she highlights one of her characters as “smiling like a cat.” I don’t understand why she used this comparison, especially given that her plot takes place in a society that is 1000 years into the future and probably has no inkling of Alice in Wonderland. Because without Chester, when would you think of a smiling cat? Cat’s never fucking smile. They yawn, hiss, growl, bear their teeth, but when do they smile? Ugh. And what’s worse is this character smiling like a cat is supposed to make the readers question him. Is he devious because of this cat-like smile? What are his real motivations? What is he really thinking? CAN WE TRUST HIM?!!! It’s fucking terrible. I’m sorry, but it is.

The plot really isn’t that great, either. In fact, the basis of the story (newbloods) is one giant dues-ex machina waiting to happen. It’s just a matter of time before “the most powerful newblood of all” swoops in and saves Mare and her friends from total annihilation (and side note – what kind of fucking name is Mare?). It sucks. Period.

The sad thing is some of the concepts aren’t that bad, and if the writing wasn’t awful, Aveyard could probably pull it off. I’m gonna reference my number one homeboy Steven King here, in that I can see how reading terrible books can be motivating. After reading the Red Queen series (which apparently is a fucking hit??), I know I can do better and I want to do better. So thanks, Aveyard, for giving me that, and showing me what not to do.


The First Rewrite

Oh Gosh. Long time no post. To all three of my readers, I apologize.

Sarcasm aside, I’ve been tits-deep in my rewrite and it’s been sucking the life out of me. I spent a good part of the year procrastinating, but I finally started a few months ago. And now I’m almost done!! This post won’t be my best writing because I’m totally gassed, but I want to share regardless.

The thought of having to do a second rewrite is jarring, but I think it’s necessary. I’ve learned an immense amount throughout this process  Moreover, I’ve fallen in love with my work again. I was dreading tackling my draft because I knew it was flawed, and part of me was worried I’d say screw it and scrap the whole thing. But the opposite happened. As Dolores would say, I chose to see the beauty in that draft. And, I used what I have learned over the last little while about writing to make it better than before.

Do I have any wisdom to pass on? Hmm. Let’s see

1. Just do it.

If you’re anxious about rewriting your novel because of the inevitable self-criticism that will follow, dwelling instead of writing will only make it worse. Sit down and get started, no matter how painful it is. You might struggle in the beginning. I know I did. I kicked and screamed and metaphorically bit myself as I sat in front of my computer preparing to start. But as time goes on and you spend more time on your rewrite, it will get easier, less painful, and you’ll find splendour in your work

2. But wait a little bit first…

I had to throw in some juxtaposition . Steven King suggests that you leave your draft alone for a little while, so when you pick it up again you can look at with fresh eyes. I have to agree with this advice. When you’re in the depths of your novel, it’s hard to spot mistakes. Just like with a toxic relationship (I’m on a roll with the dark humour), taking a step back and giving yourself some time to process what you’ve written will allow you look at your draft from a new perspective, giving you the ability to spot flaws, and edit accordingly

3. Be critical, but not mean.

I use the comment tool in Microsoft Word when I’m rewriting like self-administering morphine after surgery, ripping apart my own work with criticism. I poke holes without mercy because I know others will, but I do so with the goal of making my draft stronger, not with the aim of putting myself down. Sometimes I cringe as I do, thinking, wow, Ava, can’t believe you missed this, as I cringe and wonder why I even bother.  But I push forward despite these thoughts, remembering that acknowledging flaws will only serve to make my story better

4. Re-read, re-read, re-read.

I’m lucky in that I like reading my own writing (anyone else feel the same, or am I totally self-indulgent?). So I can reread the same part over and over, until I hate it, then I put it down and re-read it again. By doing so, I continually make my writing better. Throughout this rewrite, I’ve probably read some of my problematic chapters 10-15 times each, editing each time. It’s only served to make my work better, so I recommend trying it.

5. Be brutal with removing unnecessary words and sentences.

I noticed that I when I am pounding out my draft, I tend to write the same thing but in two different ways. During my rewrite, I was often forced to make a choice and cut out one of the sentences. However, by doing so, I cleaned up my work and made it much less wordy.

The general rule is draft – 10%. My second draft is longer than my first draft (about 20% longer), but only because I wrote in description and added items that are necessary to the plot. I actually cut out a tonne of my old work because it was redundant, poorly written, or just unnecessary. It’s hard sometimes, but essential for improvement.

6. Read out loud.

Especially the dialogue. If it sounds weird, or you think “would someone actually say that?” then switch it up, then read it out loud again, over and over, until it sounds smooth. This is a critical step. I used to do this for all my university papers, as well (and not to brag, but I aced almost all of them).

7. Adverbs should be avoided but are not the devil.

Sorry y’all, but I don’t hate them. The truth is, most readers don’t care about the occasional adverb because they don’t realize they are considered poor form. I didn’t care about them until I read On Writing. Adverbs don’t ruin your writing if they are used sparingly (see what I did there). I think they give my writing character, actually. Just sayin’.

8. Don’t get sucked into the oppressive world of rules.

I found that the more I tried to learn about writing by reading blogs, listening to podcasts, posting on Reddit, etc., the more I found myself feeling constrained and bound to a set of norms. This hurt my ability to be creative and it sucked the life from my writing, especially in the rewrite phase. Truth be told, the more I rewrote my work to adhere to these rules, the less I liked it.

Don’t get me wrong – these rules helped me improve my writing, too. I’m just saying moderation is key here. If breaking the occasional rule gives your writing a unique and endearing voice, embrace it I say. Otherwise we’ll all just sound the same.

9. Avoid the copy and paste method.

I’ll admit that there were times (quite a few times) I was lazy and I would copy and paste from my old draft into my new one instead of actually, you know, rewriting it. Occasionally it worked, because the work I’d done previously was good. However, my writing was much stronger when I sat down and made the effort to retype my story line by line. New ideas would form, things would come out better, and over all, the rewritten work was stronger than the what I had copy and pasted, then edited.

10. Embrace change.

It’s hard to let go of our creations. But if something isn’t sitting right in your gut, or if you know part of your plot doesn’t make sense, take the plunge, change it and make it better. I was afraid of change, another reason why I delayed my rewrite. But once I got started, I saw how much it improved my work and was inspired to keep going. It’s funny how many times I’ve been terrified of the idea of doing something, only to find out that I actually love it. Change was one of these things.


Maybe some of you will read these bits of wisdom and say, “None of that applies to me, I can’t WAIT to rewrite my work and change is a beautiful, unthreatening thing!” How I envy you. For me, it was a grueling process, but like any challenge I am glad I overcame it. Next steps for me are to repeat the above process, then look at getting an editor. I’m sure that will be an adventure in itself.

In the meantime, I’ll keep updating this blog, because I miss posting here!

Anyone else rewriting their draft? Care to share some thoughts? Rants are just as welcome.