Some Changes

After posting my novel online, I decided that I needed to edit it. There were some points in the story when minor plot holes and contradictions showed themselves, and I suspected–and a reader confirmed–that I was doing too much telling and not enough showing. I also thought that I was using the passive voice more often than the story warranted. To that end, I made some changes; here are some of those changes.

Many of these changes are small added details, such as this in Chapter 1:

…Speaking of which, when Nicolas was walking behind Clarissa on the way to his cubicle, Yvon came the other way and said, “well, aren’t we happy today,”

His eyes travelled down her body as she passed, primly ignoring him.

Sometimes, additions are more substantial than three lines, such as this, also in Chapter 1:

From that point, the relationship developed in the conventional way; they dated for the remainder of the winter, which although not especially cold in February, meteorologists noted it for the copious amounts of snow that fell.

I expanded that segment, and it now reads:

The two then did little talking as they went downstairs, got into Maurice’s car, and drove back to their office.

On the Wednesday after James and Clarissa’s encounter, James phoned her.

“Hey, it’s James. You remember, from the meeting on Monday?”

“Of course I remember. I like your carefree hair,”

“Thanks,” replied James, blushing.

“So, are you doing anything this weekend?”

“I can do anything you like,”

James decided to play it safe with the first date idea: “How about going to a restaurant?”

"Did you have anything in mind?”

“The Empire Café?”

“Sounds good. Say, you sound just as nice on the phone as you do in person,”

“Thank you,” said James, reddening. “Your voice also sounds nice,”

Clarissa laughed, which to James came across as a musical sound.

“So, see you Saturday. How does five-thirty work?”

“Very well.”

“Oh, what should we do beforehand?”

“Oh come over to my place,” said Clarissa, and she gave him her address.

I also split some of the longer sentences, such as this in Chapter 7:

The case was the same for Clarissa’s older sister; given that James and Clarissa were only two people, and given that the house had plenty of room, there was enough space in the house for Clarissa’s siblings, in-laws and nephew to sleep over; Clarissa had told Margaret that she would have gladly taken more, but her mother had politely demurred the invitation, saying that a newly married couple needed space, Margaret never having seen the house; consequently, she and Hyram were driving home to Toronto; in fact, if they wished to arrive home at any sort of decent time, they would have to leave shortly; it was nearly seven o’clock, which meant that, given a six hour trip, they would be home at one in the morning, leaving just enough sleep for both of them to get to work tired on Monday.

It now reads:

The case was the same for Clarissa’s older sister; given that James and Clarissa were only two people, and given that the house had plenty of room, there was enough space in the house for Clarissa’s siblings, in-laws and nephew to sleep over. Margaret, on the other hand, would need to leave soon if she and Hyram wished to arrive home at any sort of decent time, they would have to leave shortly; it was nearly seven o’clock, which meant that, given a six hour trip, they would be home at one in the morning, leaving just enough sleep for both of them to get to work tired on Monday.

This gloriously long sentence appears in Chapter 11 (with the sentence from Chapter 7, it was one of the the longest sentences in the novel before I chopped it up and turned it into six paragraphs of dialogue):

James spent Wednesday morning at work trying to fill in the hole left by Inxton Car Seats; he felt rather guilty about letting the file slip through his fingers; while their bankruptcy had freed up the convention space for his wedding, he was still suffering the repercussions; Maurice had said they needed to cut costs somehow, and would no longer be filling the water cooler, and would be selling their parking allotment in their office building; it was purchased by an entrepreneur looking to turn it into bike storage, which many people in the office thought was a good idea; James and Colleen had both praised him, in person and when he wasn’t around, for taking initiative, and wondered whether he had any other plans; Colleen had promised to be a loyal customer.

It now reads:

“Okay ladies and gentlemen, we need to cut costs somehow, and I would prefer to do it without causing too much pain. First: the water cooler will no longer be filled, for instance. More significantly, we’re selling our parking allotment.” Everyone met his announcement with murmurs of indifference; only five of the twenty drove, and Maurice later posted an article next to the water cooler detailing how filled with bacteria standing water was.

“So, someone purchased those eight spots?”

“Yeah, some guy I know wants to build a bike locker there and charge people $2.50 a day for safe storage,”

“That sounds like a good idea,” said Colleen. “It’s cheaper than the bus,”

“I might actually use it,” said James.

“So, yeah, it’s basically an enlarged personal garage. I saw pictures, it looks nice,” said Maurice. “You might store eighty bikes in there.”

Furthermore, Chapter 13 ended thus:

“I’ll bet that’s eating her up,”

“She told me a lot of other things on Friday,”The remainder of dinner was spent discussing Helena Perari, who had a reputation as a feared pundit, demanding honesty. She was also known for hard, though polite interviews, and scathing columns.

Now, Chapter 13 ends:

...she told me as much,”

“I’ll bet that’s eating her up,”

“She told me a lot of other things on Friday,”

“Like?”

“Like how she’s not impressed by politicians making contradictory promises,”

“A major thorn in her side, I suspect,”

“On air, she was much more polite: ‘I think they’re simply trying to please people; politics is a very messy game to play’ on air becomes ‘I can’t believe how slimy those weasels are’ off-air,”

“Surely the politicians would know about this,”

“Well, they kind of assume hidden microphones are everywhere these days,”

They continued like this for the remainder of their dinner. Many people also noted Perari for hard, though polite interviews, and scathing columns.

In Chapter 14, I had one of my characters, Belinda, lampshade an odd statement (needless to say, Belinda herself is not a particularly clever character). Here is the segment without the addition:

“I’m just too tired right now; I just got off of a grating day at work,”

Belinda suspected this reason at once. “That’s not a good reason for missing a Halloween party that you’ve been invited to, there’s no good reason. You get off busy days at work all the time. Isn’t that the way it is in the public sector these days?”

And with the addition:

“I’m just too tired right now; I just got off of a grating day at work,”

“You must be tired; it’s Sunday, you see; you don’t have work on Sunday. That’s not a good reason for missing a Halloween party that you’ve been invited to, there’s no good reason. You get off busy days at work all the time. Isn’t that the way it is in the public sector these days?”

I sometimes found it desirable to add small details to scenes. For instance, this is in Chapter 17:

Melvin had also given her books, some of which were quite expensive, while Juliana gave her clothing and some chocolate.

Here is the revised version:

Melvin had also given her books, some of which were quite expensive, being the kind that dispensed financial advice––Melvin always believed that things dealing directly with money were the best kind of Christmas present, while Juliana gave her clothing and some chocolate.

It is widely said, and I agree, that showing (reporting the action, describing it in detail, including dialogue, etc.) is preferable to telling (describing action and dialogue). Here, in Chapter 21, is an instance of that:

The question was a poorly phrased one about government accountability, and it was directed at all of the leaders. Duff answered first.

Now, it reads:

“Hi. My question is for all of the leaders. I was just wondering, how in this day and age of round-the-clock media coverage, you guys in Ottawa still think you can hide this stuff, you know, this spending and, uh, cheating. There’s a lot of things wrong in Ottawa, and you should fix it,”

I have also noticed that not very many of my readers have read the whole novel, which I suspect may have something to do with foreshadowing, which I will write into the early part of the plot, or before Chapter 5.

There are very many other changes–over 300–and most of them are minor. These are but a small selection.

The Second Part of Chapter 28: Restored

Finally, Margaret was nearing her destination, and could see the squat, unimaginative towers of Downtown Ottawa; Clarissa’s house and neighbourhood, she knew, lay just south of the largest collection of towers. The hospital was just across the Rideau River, and she took pleasure in stretching her legs after the long drive once she arrived in the parking lot. Now, her thoughts turned completely to her daughter, regretfully noting that she had not come to visit her daughter, nor vice versa, since Christmas, as she had been in Vancouver on business for Easter. Perhaps if she had maintained closer contact, this would not have happened. She knew that she could not have prevented a car crash––only the lowlife driving the car could have done that––she nevertheless felt responsible in a small way for her present predicament.

“I’m here to visit my daughter,” said Margaret to the receptionist in the hospital’s lobby, whose name was Olivia. “Her name is Clarissa Miller,”

“She’s staying in room B505,” said Olivia after consulting the computer. “Go up the elevator, turn left, and follow the signs to the room.”

“Thank you,” said Margaret, who walked to the elevator, bearing flowers. It did not take too long to reach Clarissa’s hospital room. It was very sad to see her in a cast and stuck in bed, which made her all the angrier at the thoughtless driver who had crashed into her. Don’t people know enough to watch where they were going? Clarissa was awake, and Margaret could see that she had a black eye.

“I got you flowers, dear,”

“Thank you,” she said sullenly. “It’s the thought that counts,”

“Meaning they weren’t a good gift? Ottawa’s nice and all, but the drive here is very boring and long,”

“Sorry, it’s just… you know.”

“Yeah. It’s been a tough year for you. Have you heard what happened to Belinda?” Eunice had been emailing and phoning Margaret since the wedding, and Margaret, as a result, saw the city from Eunice’s vantage point.

“I would prefer not to hear this. I don’t particularly like Belinda; she has loose lips, she’s alcoholic, she has a decidedly blasé attitude about other people. I think she views them as characters in a novel or something. It turns out that those things she did at the garden party last June––you know, those lurid, provocative moves made at David, and such, didn’t really happen. She had a large part to play in the spreading of gossip, and I think her and a few others like playing broken telephone. Anyways, I would prefer to hear about what Belinda does from Belinda herself, if at all.” Clarissa was unaware of the connection between Margaret and Eunice, and was not pleased that her mother wasn’t more choosy in her friendships, as what she had told her implied some sort of contact with the woman.

“Oh, I’m sorry honey,”

“How do you know her?”

“Through Eunice; she’s quite a nice person, Eunice,”

“Don’t worry about that; I haven’t exactly been innocent in spreading these perceptions. It is very funny how these perceptions can get projected onto people and become almost as real as the people themselves,”

“Yes, I know,” said Margaret, only half understanding.

“Well, please do get better. I love you, Clarissa,”

“I love you too, mom,”

“Do you know what’s so ironic about me being in the hospital right now?”

“What?”

“Today was supposed to be my due date; today was supposed to be a joyous occasion after labour,”

“Did you find a new boyfriend?”

“After much barhopping, fishing on dating sites, and making eyes at as many handsome men as I could see, I found somebody,” said Clarissa, referring to Ken.

Clarissa, after receiving the flowers from her mother, reclined, and slept, as the doctors said she needed rest, and then she would be wearing casts for a while; she did this for the next several days, and received visits from Eunice and Mario, Nicolas, who came from Place du Portage after work was done, accompanied by Vilia. Clarissa reflected that she was lucky to have such caring friends, whose presence would make the hospital stay more bearable.


On Friday afternoon, Ken visited Clarissa at the hospital. He had a drink to steady his nerves, as he needed alcohol as a means of doing this, as well as in celebration, commiseration with friends, and drowning his sorrows, as well as loosening his inhibitions. He had his daughters in tow, but they were looking bored. Annette was fidgeting with her shirt, while Venesse was reading a book, though she appeared not to find it engaging, as she kept staring at other people in the waiting room, patients, nurses, and the receptionist.

“Why are hospitals such nasty places?” asked Venesse. “There’s nothing to do here. I’m
bored,”

“It should only be a few minutes; then someone will tell us where to go,” said Ken as he approached the receptionist.

“I’m here to visit a patient,” he said. “Her name is Clarissa Miller.”

“Are you family?”

“I’m her boyfriend,”

“She’s in room B505. Enjoy your visit,”

He returned to the upholstered bench where his daughters were waiting.

“Where’s your new girlfriend? You didn’t get her injured already?” asked Annette.

“No, that was a car driven by some horrible man, honey. She’s in room B505.”

The family, after taking many turns through the labyrinthine corridors, arrived at Clarissa’s room, and Ken knocked on the door.

“Come in.” Ken recognised Clarissa’s voice.

“Hi Clarissa,” he said as he entered the room, which was painted a pale green colour, and had a view of the Rideau River.

Clarissa exclaimed, “Ken! You didn’t tell me you were a father!” That he was a father made her happy: she could finally be a mother, which was her dream.

“I’m so happy to see your kids. What are your names?” Clarissa was smiling as she asked the question. Her wide smile showed all her teeth; she hadn’t smiled that way since October.

“I’m Annette,”

“I’m Venesse,”

“It’s very nice to meet you. I hope we can be friends,” said Clarissa.

“Daddy said you were in a car crash.”

“Where were you driving?”

“I wasn’t; I was walking home, and somebody crashed into me.”

“That’s terrible; the driver must be a horrible man,” said Venesse.

Clarissa agreed. “I think the car has something to do with it, Venesse. Sometimes, people are perfectly reasonable and nice people when you meet them; when they get into a car however, they turn into something base. Let’s leave it at that.”

“What do you do when you drive?”

“I don’t, but I don’t think I would be very different from the person who hit me.”

“Will you get better soon? Daddy wants you to, he really likes you,” said Annette.

Ken said, “I also hope you get better soon,”

“I hope so, too.”

Things would work out; there would be a new beginning, after all.

The End

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The First Part of Chapter 28: Restored

When Clarissa woke up, she found herself in a hospital bed. “What happened?”

“It was a car crash,”

“I was in a car?”

“No; a car crashed into you,”

“What bastard did this?” Clarissa asked, shouting.

“They didn’t catch him; he drove off. I agree with your assessment of him.”

Clarissa did not notice the implicit demonization of men, even though it was, in fact, a man who had crashed into her. This was why she had never purchased a car; it was the fear of being in an accident, and the fear of being held responsible in some way. There were also economic rationales for shunning the car; they were expensive, and since most of the cost is fixed, she knew she would always view the initial expenses of insurance and the vehicle itself as sunk costs, and thus not consider those when making a decision whether to drive. Being an educated person herself, she was also aware of the environmental costs of cars. Her lifestyle had no need for a car either; she had lived in an apartment near a major transport hub, and James’s house had nearly every imaginable amenity nearby. It was thus deeply unjust that a car struck her, and it was a heinous, senseless crime, made no better that the driver had no intent to hurt anyone. She wondered if it would have unfolded differently had James been alive; she would not have intended to rid herself of the baby slippers or his pictures, which were now in the recycle bin; thus, the only reason for her coming to the garage sale would have been to purchase. Perhaps James would have pushed her out of the way? She hoped this latest misfortune would be the last to strike her in a tumultuous fall and winter; she wanted a quiet life, perhaps boring, but she would do well by that; wasn’t that the reason she had come to Ottawa? Wasn’t that the reason everybody came to Canada? No doubt, a quiet order had its appeal, due to its connections with a stereotypical image of a nuclear family, which unfortunately only existed in people’s minds, for when was this ideal of a quiet life ever reached? Certainly, if everyone’s life were like that, the world would not advance, and progress would not occur, and therein lay the quandary of that ambition; perhaps a storied life was the ideal? There were more questions than answers, but Clarissa found solace in the thought of her new boyfriend.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

“I’m just in a bit of pain, but I’m sure I’ll survive,”


Once Margaret heard of the car crash, she moved as quickly as she could and made the long drive to the hospital where Clarissa was staying. She needed a full day off work to make the daylong round trip; she needed to leave at six in the morning in order to spend a couple of hours with her daughter and be back home in time for a late dinner. She found the long drive calmed her somewhat; it was sort of like meditation: all she had to do was to concentrate on the road ahead, and to banish all other concerns from her mind. Clarissa seems to have had a rough time since she married that man, she thought. The only bright spot, if it could be called that, was that she had a nice house. It wasn’t as if it was a hard burden for her to bear; she had an ample income. The burden of young widowhood, on the other hand, was much harder to bear, and Margaret had felt deeply sympathetic for her daughter, and quietly cursed herself for not doing anything. What foul fortunes have befallen my baby over this past year! She muttered to herself as she drove along the highway.

She had passed east of Peterborough, and was journeying through a sparsely inhabited section of the province; she had always found this particular stretch of road boring, because firstly, the only town of any size was Perth, and that was at least two hours away from where she was. Additionally, Highway 7 did not follow any rivers at this point, and the vegetation, which had not come into flower here, was monotonous and presented the bare stone of the shield. All the while, as she drove, her mind was on Clarissa, even as she guided the car along the tight curves of the highway that avoided the surrounding rocky, pine-clad hills. The monotony of the trip made her tired, she needed some refreshment by the time she reached Perth, and even there, there was still about an hour to go. She made a pit stop at Tim’s, and coffee in hand, continued driving.

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The Second Part of Chapter 27: New Light

On May first, Christine and her now-fiancé, Zachary, organised a community garage sale, which was advertised as a way for various households to get rid of unwanted stuff. Zachary, an accountant, was keeping careful records of exactly who had contributed what, the price on the item, and the price it had been sold for; it was a very careful and detailed operation, considering that at least fifteen households had contributed clothing, old furniture, a few books, assorted knick-knacks, and various other pieces of junk.

Laura watched Clarissa as she solemnly laid the baby slippers on the table. “I won’t need these,” said she.

“Why not? Surely you can try again,” said Laura.

“Not for awhile; everything seems…to have fallen apart.”

Laura watched a single tear trickle down Clarissa’s cheek.

“Please, Clarissa, don’t say these things. How about we go out to see a comedy show, or a play?”

Clarissa responded, stammering. “Maybe.”

“I hear there’s a show on next week. Heck, I need an excuse to dress up. So do you.”

“Mmm.”

“I’ve seen you slowly degenerate. You looked positively glowing at the wedding, but after he died, it seemed to have fallen apart”

“Well, of course. What did I do to deserve it?”

“Nothing, same as anyone.”

“I met a guy last night. He seems nice,”

Eunice, who was getting rid of an old coffeemaker, interjected, “At a bar, you mean?”

“Yes, at a bar. It was a rather pleasant night, and we talked about all sorts of things: interest rates, our credit ratings, the Bank of Canada’s monetary policy, and of course, Employment Insurance, not to mention trade negotiations.”

“Sounds like a fascinating conversation,” said Eunice, who could have thought of a number of more interesting things to talk about.

“Then we got right down to business, if you know what I mean.” Clarissa then gestured to the baby slippers, which were of blue wool, and had a decorative ribbon.

“I hope these baby slippers have a happier life. They will be 50 cents. Say, do you know what happened to Belinda? I don’t know anything, and I’ve just been telling people stories; I told your mother something made-up, I can’t remember what it was,”

“I hope they’re nice stories, but no, I don’t know, I can’t help you,” said Laura.

Laura wondered why Clarissa would be getting rid of the baby slippers. Had she given up on having kids? They were decent slippers, and could be for either a boy or a girl; they were sufficiently unisexual.

Eunice told Clarissa about Belinda, and then asked, “Are you planning on trying to have children again? I hear there’s someone you met at a bar; are there any prospects there?”

“I’m hopeful, but I think that getting rid of these slippers would help me to get over the whole experience of losing the baby. I really need to move on; I have had too much death over the past year.”

“I understand,” said Eunice. She saw that Clarissa had also chosen to get rid of a number of picture frames. Some were small, while others were larger and ornate, the largest being the size of David’s flat-screen LCD television, which gave his living room the air of a theatre; she counted twelve frames in all.

Ten minutes later, a couple named Carolyn and Thomas picked the baby slippers up. Thomas had just moved from Toronto, where he had been fired from his job at CityTV, and was looking to start over with his wife.

“How I wish that were me,” Said Clarissa, motioning to the couple.

Eunice said, “I hope it will be, some day.”

“I hope I wasn’t too much trouble for you; you cared for me so much, even in my darkest days. Well, thank you, Eunice,”

“Don’t mention it; I just didn’t want to see a friend sad.”

“How are you doing otherwise?” It was a general question, but Eunice knew she meant her pregnancy.

“I’m due in July; we’re planning a baby shower in June. There’ll be cake, lots of food, and I’m inviting all sorts of people and family. You’re invited too, if you want to come,”

“Sure,”

Clarissa walked home, and Christine watched her. She then turned her attention to a seven-year old interested in a book.

“You’re interested in the Hardy Boys? It’s a very good series.”

“Yes ma’am. I’d like it. Here’s 50 cents.”

“Thank you,”

There was suddenly a loud crash, and then the sound of screaming was audible. Eunice dropped the book she was handling (a well-thumbed copy of Morley Callaghan’s Our Lady of the Snows), and almost instinctively ran to the edge of the driveway, where she looked down the street. Her eyes widened in shock when the scene confronted her. Clarissa was lying on her side in the middle of the road, with her legs at an awkward angle. She looked around, and was able to see a van with a cracked windshield speeding down the road.

“Clarissa!” screamed Eunice.

Laura’s hand went immediately to her cell phone and she dialled 9-1-1. What monster could have done this? She thought, in fear of Clarissa’s life. She swiftly looked down the street, and saw a blue car with a cracked windshield. Everything was happening so quickly; the emergency respondent at the other end of the line was talking to her, and she saw the monster in the car quickly speeding away, too fast for her to read the license plate. This is an injustice, she thought.

“Ma’am this may be an injustice, but please calm down.”

“Sorry. Some man in a blue car drove into my friend, Clarissa.”

“Did you get a license plate?”

“No. He drove away. Look for a blue car with a cracked windshield.”

“And Clarissa?”

“Clarissa seems to have a broken arm, at least, and she’s bleeding from her mouth.”

“There will be an ambulance over right away,”

“Thank you very much.”


Henry was talking on his cell phone:

“Well, could you email me those files?” he asked Cora, with whom he was working on a project.

Then it happened. She hit the windshield. She was a tall, pretty woman, crossing the street, and it seemed to Henry, as she screamed, to be three months pregnant. She slid off the windshield and left a large crack. Henry thought in horror, what will happen to me? He swore.

“Henry?” Cora’s voice sounded scratchy on the phone.

“Did something happen?”

“It’s… nothing,”

“Really?”

In a panic, Henry ended the call and turned off the phone. Surely I will be charged with careless driving. I might go to jail. He stepped on the gas, and drove in an effort to get away from the scene and dissociate himself from his deeds.


Cora thought that it seemed rather strange; he does not normally act that way. He’s usually much more focussed; he normally knows what he’s doing when he’s being unreasonable; his voice sounded positively strained. With these thoughts, Cora picked up the phone, and called Henry back.

“Henry, are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

“Yes, I’m sure,”

“You don’t sound so good.”

“Listen, could you call me back? I’m driving right now.”

“Sure. And get some sleep, you put in far too much time last night.”

“Goodbye,”

Well, that’s that, thought Cora. Or is it? She thought something was up. His voice simply sounded too strained for something not to be up; what if he did something on the road? Should I call someone?

Not wanting to be bothered further with these troublesome thoughts, she turned back to her work. She would surely find out soon enough about Henry.

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