Here’s a fiction sample that required heavy editing for clarity and flow. I cut this excerpt from 600+ to 400 words to improve flow and pacing. In an editing job like this I make sure the writer is aware of the reasons behind my suggestions, but I’d still recommend cutting the backstory further and convey this information to the reader through actual scenes between characters.
EDITED VERSION FOLLOWS
NOTE – ALL COPYRIGHT REMAINS WITH THE AUTHOR
A WALK IN THE PARK
by
AUTHOR
Bertie paced back and forth in the front hall; then pawed at the closet door. She knew it was in there.
“Ready?” I leaned forward, hand on the doorknob.
Bertie looked up expectantly.
“Go!” I threw open the door and Bertie burst inside the closet, tail quivering as she searched for her leash.
“Aha, you found it, tricky devil.” I wrapped my arms around her as I clipped the leash to her collar. “OK, let’s go – but shh… we don’t want to wake Mother.”
Bertie shoved past me out the front door, threatening to pull me down the steps as I fumbled with the lock. Closing the door quietly behind me I stepped into a wall of dense fog.
Bertie’s silver coat receded into the mist – I followed her dark form toward the park. It was our usual route, snaking past enormous houses and spreading lawns. Now all shrouded in fog. I breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of wet earth and worms.
The pad, pad of Bertie’s feet hitting the pavement was muted by the fog. Waking along, we could have been the only ones left on earth. My feet echoed dully on the pavement, trailing behind Bertie and lost in my thoughts.
Mom hasn’t been the same after Dad died, and with the house to keep and everybody fighting about it —
Bertie tugged on her leash, waking me from my reverie. The stone wall of the park gates loomed out of the fog. Bertie pulled me toward the dog park, straining to see in the mist. She was looking for her playmate Gus, they’d been buddies since they were pups. I was looking for Gus’s owner.
END OF EDIT
ORIGINAL FOLLOWS BELOW
Bertie paced back and forth from the front door to the hall closet; impatient she pawed at the closet door, looking up at me with her gorgeous brown puppy dog eyes, begging me to move faster.
The moment I opened the closet door, she yelped and waded in looking for her leash. It made me laugh because she should know by now that I kept it on the top shelf. After the fiftieth time chasing her all over the house with the leash in her mouth, I decided she needed to be reminded who was in charge, that’s when I began hiding the leash.
I pulled on my big red raincoat and matching boots, just as excited to get outside as she was, despite the rain and fog. When I was done, my cute Bertie had managed to reach the leash on her hind legs and now held it in her mouth, proud of her own ingenuity and ready for our morning walk. After attaching the leash to her collar I gave my deep grey Weimaraner a scruffy rub and hug around her head and neck. “Let’s go, sweetie”. As quietly as I could with Bertie at my heels, I opened the front door carefully, closing the door behind me so as not to wake my mother, and stepped into a wall of dense fog.
There was an eerie feel to the early morning air, it was almost as though I was the current lead in the latest Stephen King movie. A shiver travelled through my shoulders that I tried to ignore. The need to get out of the house was far more pertinent than the ominous feeling the current weather caused. I took in a slow deep breath, inhaling the scent of wet earth and worms. It had been raining for what seemed like weeks. Even the meteorologist on the weather network seemed glib about the constant rain we were forced to contend with. I felt a yank from the leash, which woke me from my reverie.
“Hang on Bertie” I chided. She pulled on her leash and whimpered to let me know I was being a slow poke as I turned and locked our front door, thinking about my Mom, still fast asleep. Thank goodness.
After we lost Dad, Mom fell into a deep depression. We were all devastated when Dad suffered a massive heart attack in the middle of the 10th hole at the country club, but there was nothing we could have done to prevent it. However, that wasn’t how my mother saw it. She took on the blame none of us felt and twisted it until she could no longer function. My sisters and brother all had their own lives, families, and careers, so I was left to shoulder the huge responsibility of my mothers health and the up keep of an expensive house we no longer needed. I pushed the melancholy thoughts from my mind; it wouldn’t help anyone if I became depressed as well.
Sometimes I swore it was Bertie who was actually walking me. She knew the route well and pulled on her leash leading me to the lane that ran behind our home, which led to a lovely green field and park before the woods that bordered the opulent neighbourhood we called home. There, in the field, I would let Bertie run, hoping that she would get to see her playmate, Gus. He was a very attractive Boxer, strong and energetic. Bertie had been playing with him since he was a mere pup; now nine months later, he was all muscle and almost as large as she. We both enjoyed seeing Gus, but I enjoyed seeing Gus’s owner much more.
— END
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