Some time ago, my co-author sister and I were printing up a photo that had to be a specific size. Stacy stood at the printer, pushing buttons, while I was off on another planet at the other side of the room. She disagreed with the settings I advised. "What if it prints too small?" she asked. "Just try it anyway," I answered absently, going through my paperwork. "We can always cut it bigger."

Stacy seems to think that's a funny story. She likes to remind me of it every so often.

I've overcome my shame, however, by realizing that my shining moment on the blooper reel is actually a very useful practice to remember when editing: Cut it bigger.

Before I actually finished a complete novel, "editing," to my mind, always meant "trimming." You edit your writing to remove the mistakes and unnecessary excess, right? But as I honed my SoCNoC novel, I found myself having to do something I never expected: write more. I'm pretty sure I've added more than I ever had to cut.

In the first flurry of writing, I focus on scenes that are important, cool, or dramatic; scenes that develop characters. I tend to glaze over parts I don't find as interesting. And I'm notorious for wanting to describe the scene exactly as I see it in my head--forgetting to put my head into the scene. I hurry my characters from point A to point B without looking both ways, especially during the rush of action sequences.

But there can be hidden treasure in those brief sum-ups. Sometimes entire chapters appear, just by delving deeper into a skipped-over part.

For example:

James ran into the library. A door slammed up ahead; his eyes fell to a body on the carpet. It was Uncle Jonas!

That's got action and surprise; it gets the point across. But what happens when we slip into James' head and body?

James ran into the library, praying with every hard breath that he wasn't too late. His pulse pounded in his throat; sweat slipped into his eyes.

What does he see?

The room was dark--only a yellow glow of streetlamps filtered through the windows. The sickly light turned shelves of books into brick walls that threatened to close in on him.

What does he hear and feel?

He caught the sound of a quick shuffle of shoe leather on carpet, then the click of a door latch. James' heart lurched; he walked slowly into the room, glancing around. But there was no door to latch--only walls and walls of books. Tension drained from his body as he cursed himself for letting the killer slip through his fingers.

The coolness and silence stung him. He wiped the dampness from his forehead, looked down, and saw the body sprawled behind a desk.

It was Uncle Jonas!

Poor James. Draft Two made life a heck of a lot harder for him. (Sorry to do that to you, dude, but that's my job.)

The other rules of editing still apply. Longer sentences diminish tension; and you surely don't want to have superfluous words bogging down your story. But on the other hand, if a scene is too brief, the reader doesn't have a chance to get emotionally involved enough to feel the impact of a surprise when it comes.

So take another walk through your manuscript, and see if you can cut it bigger. Remember my shame at the photo printer...and turn it into your glory on the best-seller list.