Star Horizon Republish Update

I got the first batch of pages back from the editor on book1, which is in process to be republished. I’ve definitely been in conversation with the, Will I Ever Get It Right, shadow. And, I’m super appreciative of the editor. I’ve worked through the first 50 pages, and the novel feels (to me) transformed. The two dominate issues are 1) Telling where I should be Showing 2) World building deployed through info dumps. Of that latter, I had removed a lot of that, but wherever the editor came across it, she flagged it for removal. I see now how these info dumps, even in small paragraphs, are like speedbumps, pulling the reader out of the story and likely to be skimmed and immediately forgotten. Oddly, the two issues are related. Because as I converted “tells” into “shows”, that opened up natural pathways for worldbuilding.

A lot of this info dump worldbuilding is interesting stuff. But it’s better left to an appendix or the website.

Below is an example in the current version:

The moments that came—the fall of the lash and the return to his long room—passed in a rose-enriched blur.

I made a conscious choice to not show this. Partly because I wasn’t sure I would be able to do so without it coming across as some form of therapy—I wasn’t sure I could keep Kor, the main protagonist, as Kor instead of as the traumatized author. Partly because I did not want to step into the emotional energy required to write it. Partly because I thought it would be too much. But the editor changed my mind. I’ve done a lot of healing the last couple of years. And the scene that came out of showing “the moments that came” is now (for me) the emotional heart of the entire novel. It’s a bit long to include here.

There are also many small examples.

Soapy sea moss and bark odors, the barest hint, put Kor on alert.

Became

Kor stiffened.

Soapy sea moss and bark odors, the barest hint.

Instead of saying that Kor was on alert, I showed it.

Another example:

Floating blue-white displays embedded with commands, search tools, and files illuminated the data room. Frigid air circulated, scrubbed of aromas, and filtered of contaminants. Discovery being a constant threat, he danced along the cliff’s edge. Stay at the edge, risk the fall, feel the wind, and relish the exuberance. Success at getting the codes was spotty. Silver lines from a new dream whispered encouragement.

A sequence of numbers pinged his armband. Success!

‍ ‍Became

Floating blue-white displays embedded with commands, search tools, and files illuminated the data room above a quarter-moon shaped control panel. Waiting for interaction. Kor shivered and rubbed his hands together with vigorous gusto. In choreographed ease, his hands danced through the menus in a search for his father’s code to the Macrocosm…and to the wild humans who called themselves Earthers.

A counter tracked his seconds. Ten. Fifteen. He placed the silver ring on a panel sensor, depositing an algorithm to assist the search. He accelerated his motion. Lancing pain from his lacerations broke his concentration. But there was no time for weakness. Seventeen. Eighteen.

How many were left?

Stay at the edge, risk the fall, feel the wind, and relish the exuberance.

A sequence of numbers pinged his armband.

Success!

I’m doing a couple of things with the above change. Instead of “frigid air", Kor shivers and rubs his hands together to get them warm (showing instead of telling). I also showed the urgency with Kor keeping track of every second. Also, “there was no time for weakness” reveals the internal burden that he carries.

‍ ‍Another example:

Kor removed a pouch full of fine powder from a locker than acted as a headboard. At the foot of his bunk, he blew the limestone dust. Invisible beams glowed red in a tightly woven grid—one of the General’s recent installments, but never before employed, to prevent his trips up the mountain to stargaze and dream without nightmares. As expected, the dense grid would thwart any manner of acrobatic contortion. Worse, the beams changed position at randomized intervals. Escaping by outsmarting the detection grid was impossible. Kor grinned—anticipating his father’s move, he deposited a virus into the clan’s network to go live whenever the General activated the laser grid.

At 2:50 a.m., the sensor grid vanished—a three-second hiccup—long enough for Kor to dash by a parallel row of bunk beds intended for brothers never born.

Became

He swayed as he exited the bathroom. Twin rows of identical twelve bunks divided his long room in half. But only his had sheets and a pillow. He took a step, his foot thumping to the floor. Gravity resisted, but he muscled his leg up to continue the forward motion. To stop would be weakness. Weakness was death.

 He lost track of time.

But as his head hit the pillow, he smiled like he had won a race. In the same instant, the lights went out and a red glow overlaid the room’s thin crown molding. The smile vanished. Drops of sweat formed on Kor’s brow. Security lockdown. The General was always one step ahead.

But not this time.

For three hours, he rested and meditated, recovering stamina to do what must be done.

Kor removed a pouch full of fine powder from a locker that acted as a headboard and poured it into his palm.

At the foot of his bunk, he blew on the limestone powder. A cloud of dust spread into the room, revealing faint, reddish beams that glowed in a tightly woven grid. Only the path to the bathroom remained clear.

The dense grid would thwart any manner of acrobatic contortion. Worse, the beams changed position at randomized intervals.

Keeping in contact with the mattress, Kor rotated under the bed. He breathed deep, drawing in a faint woody aroma of dried rose petals. Where the odor was strongest, he pressed into the mattress where a small cavity had been cut. A silvery ring dropped out that he caught with his hand.

“Activate get out of jail virus,” he murmured.

Kor squeezed the ring hard enough to brand his palm. Had the General outwitted him again? Would the signal be jammed or blocked? He peered from under the bed, ready to curse the Supreme, the Starry Empire, and the prison of his world.

But the sensor grid had vanished---then reappeared—then vanished in three-second hiccups—long enough for Kor to dash by the bunk beds intended for brothers never born.

Take that, father!

So here I’m getting in some worldbuilding by showing the scene. Kor’s bed is the only one with sheets and a pillow which implies he’s an only child in a room built for many. Instead of saying how Kor outsmarted his father “off page”, I show Kor in action. I give him his moment of victory. It’s more believable because the reader is along for the right whereas the original text could be seen as a contrivance.

There was also a couple of places where the editor got lost on who the characters were. The most prominent example of that was when Kor was interacting with his 12-year-old cousin, Wolf. For the editor, it felt discordant because Wolf came across as a child at times but also overly mature. But there was worldbuilding behind that:

Militants are much more mature compared to someone of a similar age on our world.

They are groomed and trained from birth to be elite soldiers and commanders.

But Wolf is also still a child so there is an internal tug of war—something all Militants go through—as they are allowed to indulge in their childish ways but are also expected to quickly give them up as they move on in life.

There are 2 key transitions 1) Ascension, ritually passing into manhood where all childhood/preadult indulges are expected to be let go 2) 13, when a child becomes an elder boy.

Wolf is at the cusp of becoming an elder boy and there is a tension in that transition. He still feels like a child, but he must project a certain level of maturity.

He’s allowed to get away with behavior that won’t be tolerated after his next birthday. The cutting of the hair is part of the transition to make visible what must happen internally (letting go of certain attachments).

Militants are in the end “product”. From the perspective of the natural born, they are “manufactured” and there are expectations that Militants perform at the highest level of their specs. No exceptions.

From the Militant perspective, even when they deny they are anything but Militant, they still see themselves as human even though it cannot be admitted or spoken about except in ways that are seditious.

With Kor, Wolf is comfortable and so some of his inner child is coming out.

What the editor needed to see was an integration of Wolf’s childhood self and his mature version. She needed to feel at some level the tragic tension of being forced to grow up whether you are ready or not—something that Kor has experienced and who still carries a sense of loss.

So I added the following:

Before Kor had a chance to respond, Wolf tagged him. “You’re it!”

Open doorways bookended the long room and Wolf scampered toward the one to his back. For Wolf, playing games for fun would be one of many things he would have to give up when he became an elder boy on his next birthday. As Kor had done. For Kor, it was against the rules.

Grinning, he tapped his armband to start a timer— his heart refused to forget the joy of the chase without consequences. And he would give Wolf a taste of that joy even at the cost of more punishment.

I also made a couple of other minor tweaks. Not a lot, but enough so that childish Wolf and mature Wolf seem more natural to exist in the same person.

I’m loving the transformation. I’m disappointed that it still needs significant work. In Dolly’s words…

“It's like, if I fail, it's no big deal. If something don't work out, I'm not afraid of failure because, to me, I never feel like a loser, you know? Even when I've lost, I still, you know, feel like I'm winning because I'm earning some sort of experience or something that I can use somewhere else."

God Bless you, Dolly