Editing and Revising Work for Publication

As many of you will know, I am currently editing and revising my thesis for publication as a monograph. This has involved not only eliminating and shortening many of the references that are not relevant for a book on the subject, but also reviewing all of my arguments for clarity, consistency and coherence. Of course, this work on argument was 'completed' before I submitted my thesis but, as my wonderful supervisor once said, 'Nic, you'll never be finished! The day after you submit you will learn something that makes you question what you said the day before'. Thankfully this does not yet apply to anything central to my thesis, but I have discovered many things about my work that I did not understand properly just a few months ago. These shifts in my thinking have moved me towards a much clearer final text and they represent the kind of shifts that any writer must expect to experience as the seed of an idea grows and develops into a fully completed work. In my case, these shifts in understanding have involved the following:

1. I have realised that my work is not about me saying the things I say about candlelight, but the science saying it. This now seems obvious, but I think my previous assumption was that it was my thesis and therefore my argument - and that was wrong. Of course it is still my monograph, but my monograph is not claiming that some random individual from the 21st century has identified some extreme things about Shakespeare's late plays: it is stating that an individual who happens to be au fait with the science of light and vision, from a previous career as a theatrical lighting designer, has discovered that this science illuminates Shakespeare's late plays in ways not previously recognised. It is a massive shift - not least because it strengthens my arguments! It also highlights where my arguments are not based on science but on my own creative opinions. And, in an academic work of historical analysis, these 21st century opinions must be strictly controlled!

2. I have discovered some new material which might cause me to rethink and rewrite some elements of the work, before I send the manuscript to the publishers. This discovery is extremely important for my book overall, because of the extra support it might provide for one key part of my argument or, conversely, the challenge it might throw up for one of my historical claims. It is exciting and all part of the process. It reminds me that I will never be finished with my explorations, even if the manuscript for my book has to be submitted by a fixed deadline.

3. I have seen clearly what my findings are really demonstrating about Shakespeare's plays. This clarity primarily involves the potential influence of Inigo Jones's work on Shakespeare's late plays, the unquestionably visual style which comes to the fore in these late plays, and the transformative effect of candlelight on Shakespeare's writing. This last one is interesting because academic research has drawn into question the degree to which the plays we have today were the plays conceived by Shakespeare himself. The arguments surround that old chestnut: 'authorial intention'. I am old enough to have completed my undergraduate degree at a time when authorial intention was still a valid concept, but in the intervening years between then and now this concept has been largely debunked. Not only can we not know what the author actually intended (we can only see what the words on the page say to us today) but we can't even be sure that extant texts from the early modern period contain the author's own words as originally composed. And what does 'originally composed' mean anyway? My own journey with my monograph has shown that the original composition and the final composition can be very different things - and the work is never finished, anyway, and is therefore subject to updates and amendments at every subsequent opportunity. This new approach to textual studies is all fine and makes sense but there is one problem: I am still inclined to phrase my arguments in ways that give a nod to authorial intention, even when I know that it's a questionable concept. This is the trouble with subconscious assumptions: my own subconscious assumption is currently that Shakespeare wrote Shakespeare's plays and had an overview of the play and story which was largely consistent and coherent at the time he first 'finished' the play. This can not be, at one level, wrong. But at the level of individual lines of text it is highly questionable. Lines added later, lines deleted, lines omitted or mis-copied at the printing stage, lines changed by actors - and/or misremembered - which became accepted as the true copy over time despite none of them being what Shakespeare 'originally' intended. Finding the pivot point along the scale from authorial intention to textual evidence is something I am still working on!

Why am I sharing these elements of my writing journey in today's blog? Partly because I wanted to write down how I am feeling about my writing at this moment in time, but also because the lessons I am learning - and the challenges I am currently facing - are natural lessons and challenges faced by every conscientious writer on the journey towards a 'finished' work. They can be summed up as follows:

• What you believe your writing to be about and what it actually is about are frequently two different things. Finding what it really is about is the key to editing for coherence from start to finish.

• Don't set yourself the goal of 'finishing' your writing. It will never be finished. Instead, set yourself a goal based on a deadline - or don't set yourself a goal at all.

• Allow your understanding of what you are writing to develop and grow, and don't be afraid of discovering that something is more significant than you thought it was. Embrace the journey of discovery rather than sticking rigidly and unquestioningly to your plan.

This final point was exemplified on our most recent retreat when I suggested to a highly skilled writer, working on a play script, that his story seemed to demand a third act beyond the two he had previously envisaged. He could have ignored me or avoided the issued out of fear of what that might do to everything he thought he knew about his play. Alternatively he could have just jumped on what I suggested without a second thought. But, instead, he embraced the idea, even telling me he wished he had realised it for himself. His response demonstrated not only his fearless willingness to go where the story took him (regardless of what he had previously thought it should be) but also his absolute ownership of his story: he did not adopt the three act plan with alacrity because I had told him to; he adopted it because it made perfect sense to him.

Making sense of what we are writing is one of the keys to success. And it's not as easy as it sounds.

Till next time (hopefully not too long!),

Nic