Let’s imagine that your manuscript as a garden. When you wrote your book, you put each seed in the soil where you imagine it should go. When finished, you took a break came back to a blooming garden (along with some weeds that somehow wound up in there!) The garden doesn’t look as beautiful as it could, so you started taking care of some big changes. You remove plants, you add plants, you pull weeds. This is like your macro edit.

Now you’re left to survey each individual plant, and you must take your pruning shears to shape it into the most fruitful plant it can be. This is the job of the micro edit, to look at each scene and make it the best it can be.

If you’re not sure what a good scene should look like, here are two posts I’ve written about crafting high impact scenes:

How To Craft High Impact Scenes For Your Novel Part One

and Part Two

Over the years, I’ve found several questions that are helpful for me to ask when I’m editing scenes. This doesn’t mean I’m literally asking each question and writing out my answer, because by now I do this more from instinct. You might find it helpful to have this list handy when you’re new to editing, or you might find that you’re instinctively asking these questions already.

How does this scene impact the plot? If I cut it, would it matter?

I’ve found this is the best place to start. Why is this scene here? What’s my purpose? What’s my character trying to achieve?

Because I often begin writing scenes with only a vague sense of what I want to happen (and sometimes no sense…) there’s always two or three scenes in my drafts that can be cut entirely without losing anything.

Asking this question first saves me from editing a scene and then deciding I don’t need it at all!

Can I make this scene work harder for me?

I like to ask this question next because sometimes in my first drafts, a scene only accomplishes one thing when it could easily take care of two or three if I just use my brain a bit.

I’m going to use a scene from my novella Throwing Stones as an example. (This novella is a free download for those who are in my “inner circle” email list, so it’s easy and cheap for you if you want to see the whole thing. You can join my inner circle on my website.)

As I started on scene two in Throwing Stones, I had several important things that I wanted the reader to know:

• Abbie (the main character) works hard to be a good student, but her life is very hectic.
• Her older sister, Skylar, is getting married in 2 weeks.
• Abbie feels jealous of the life her sister is living.

I set up a scene where Skylar encourages Abbie to wear something nicer to a dinner with her future in-laws. Abbie thinks Skylar is being bossy, but in the next chapter we’ll learn that Skylar was trying to subtly help Abbie’s evening go well. Even though the scene is short (472 words) I’m able to accomplish a lot, which is critical to the success of a 16,000 word novella.

Don’t settle for scenes that just accomplish one goal!

Am I telling this event from the right point of view (POV)?

If you’re writing a story using multiple POVs, the guideline for deciding this is asking, “Who has the most at stake in this scene?” Or another way to phrase that is, “Who has the most to gain or lose?” Sometimes this question is very simple to answer but not always.

Another issue you might face is that sometimes a character is suffering too much to be a good point of view character. Say your book has two POV characters, Joan and Kevin. They’re both at a funeral for Joan’s mother and Kevin is there to support her. While Joan possibly has more at stake here, you might find she’s too ensconced with grief to make for an effective POV character and Kevin will give the reader a clearer picture of what’s happening.

Did I arrive late?

Just like the age-old writing advice of, “Start your story in the middle of the action,” your scenes should each start that way as well. Something should already be happening.

Your reader gets to be like a bride at her wedding. Everybody is already in position and just waiting for her arrival to get to the interesting stuff, and she’s the first to leave. Don’t make your reader hang around for the equivalent of watching chairs be stacked and rice be swept away. (We’ll talk about “leaving early” in a bit.)

This is how I begin the scene from Throwing Stones that I just talked about:

“Abbie!” From the bottom of the stairs, my sister somehow manages to groan and yell my name at the same time. “We’re gonna be late!”

I flip my textbook page. “I’m coming!”

“You said that five minutes ago.” Skylar does nothing to hide the irritation in her voice. She sounds so much like Mom, I feel like a kid again.

I slide a foot into my flip-flop as I skim several more sentences. “This time I really am!”

In my early writing days, I might have chosen to start it like this:

After I fed Owen a snack, I put on the T.V. for him so I could study for the next day’s test. I had been studying for several hours when I heard my sister come in the front door. In about fifteen minutes, I bet she would be harping at me to get ready for dinner with the Ross family. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before she yelled, “Abbie!” up the stairs.

Do you see how much more effective and intriguing it is to start with the action of Abbie’s sister yelling for her? While example number two certainly gives us more information and answers more questions right away, it isn’t as interesting to read.

Do I help provide context for my readers? (Who, what, when, where, and why)

Once you’ve found the right action for starting your scene, you need to give your reader context as quickly as you can. That means answering the who, what, when, where, and why of your scene. Who is there? What is happening? When is this taking place? Where are we? And why are we here?

Here are the next few lines of that scene in Throwing Stones:

I slide a foot into my flip-flop as I skim several more sentences. “This time I really am!”

From downstairs, I hear the muffled voices of Skylar and Owen. Then Owen yells, “Mommy? Where are my light-up shoes?”

“Don’t you want your nice shoes?” Skylar says. “To go with your nice shirt?”

“No. I want my light-up ones.” The duh is implied at the end of his sentence.

“Hey, Owen, let’s wear your nice shoes tonight, okay?” I call as I uncap a highlighter. “It’s a special night for Aunt Skylar.”

As are many nights.

Owen thunders up the stairs to his room, retrieves his black loafers, and runs back downstairs. And during this, I manage to read another two paragraphs.

“Oh, pal, you look so handsome,” Skylar says in the soft-hearted voice she only uses with Owen. Louder she adds, “And I bet your mother looks beautiful.”

I groan, mark my spot in the book, and clomp downstairs.

Let’s see how I did with providing context in the first 200 words of my scene:

Who is there?: Abbie, Skylar, and Owen
What is happening?: Abbie is trying to study, Skylar is trying to get to dinner on time, and Owen is enduring a wardrobe change.
When is this taking place?: The last scene was Abbie picking Owen up from school. Here Abbie refers to wearing his nice shoes “tonight” so the reader can piece together that this is after school but before an evening event.
Where are we?: A house. It doesn’t state that Abbie is in her room, but she’s studying upstairs and Owen goes past her in the hallway to his room at one point, so most readers would probably (correctly) assume she’s in her room.
Why are we here?: Abbie is upstairs trying to get some peace and quiet to study. Skylar is downstairs trying to get everyone out the door. Owen goes back and forth.

Do I leave early and give my reader a reason to come back?

As soon as I’ve accomplished my objective with a scene, I want to get my reader out of there. Even if it’s not the end of a chapter, but just the end of a scene, I always try to end with something snappy, reflective, poignant, or that prompts a question. Here’s the close of this scene from Throwing Stones:

Skylar glances at Owen and bites her lower lip. “Which I appreciate. I just would suggest that you go upstairs and put on, like, that orange silk dress or something.”

Gosh, she’s bossy. I can’t wait for her to get married and get out of my hair.

“I’m not. Changing. My clothes.” I take Owen’s hand and stalk out the front door.

The next scene opens with the three of them in the car driving to dinner, so I could have made the choice to keep it all as one big scene. I liked ending here because it’s more interesting to me than details like Abbie grabbing her purse and Owen getting his booster seat to ride in Skylar’s car, etc. We end with a clear shot of Abbie’s attitude and mood going into the evening, and it sets up the next scene nicely.

“Giving the reader a reason to come back” can be tough to evaluate. At the end of a scene, I try to raise more questions than I’m answering, especially if it’s the end of a chapter. Cliffhanger endings, like a knock on the door or a sudden scream can get old really quickly, so use those sparingly. While it may not seem like it, giving slightly more info about the knock or scream can actually be more enticing.

Consider the end of chapter one in The Lost Girl of Astor Street.

A scream rips through the bright blue afternoon–my own.

Isn’t it more interesting to know that the scream is the main character’s than leaving that question unanswered?

Here are all six questions together:

• How does this scene impact the plot? If I cut it, would it matter?
• Can I make this scene work harder for me?
• Am I telling this event from the right point of view (POV)?
• Did I arrive late?
• Do I help provide context for my readers? (Who, what, when, where, and why)
• Do I leave early and give my reader a reason to come back?