Samples of Edited Text

Each book manuscript is unique. I’ll be glad to review yours so I can tell you the level of editing it will need. No charge for an edit review.

Below are examples of light, moderate, and heavy editing.

Light Editing – Before Bill’s Edit:

I sighed. Beside all the previous drama I was stuck at home by myself on a Saturday. I didn’t even have my Dad for company, he was out on Jefferson Street again looking for anything suspicious. I was waiting for someone to come and put a “lame” stamp on my forehead. Again the same options popped up in my head. I wasn’t calling Laura and I wasn’t calling Robbie. The only difference was that Laura was probably willing to talk to me and Robbie wasn’t. For the whole rest of the week at school things had been . . . interesting between us. He wouldn’t even look my direction. The only communication we had was the angry slamming of our lockers before heading off in our different directions. I hadn’t gone to the creek anymore in fear of seeing him, I knew I was stupid, but I didn’t care. I told Robbie to leave me alone and he decided to obey my wishes. But did that mean things had to be so cold between us?

I kept doing it. As much as I tried to stop myself I couldn’t. I was pushing him away more everyday and I hated myself for it. I was even pushing Mrs. Koenig away. I gave one word answers to her questions and acted like I despised every second I sat in her office.

“So . . . anything interesting happen with you and your new friend?” Mrs. Koenig asked.

“Nope.” I said slowly so the P made a popping noise.

“Have your grades been doing okay?”

“Don’t have a clue,” I said quickly.

She was taken aback. We sat for a minute in silence, I knew she had nothing to say and neither did I.

“Is something bothering you Collin?”

“Nope,” I lied.

“Are you sure?” she seemed concerned.

“Yup. The P popped.

“Collin if you don’t want to be here you can always go back to class. No one is stopping you. And besides, if you’re just going to waste my time then there is no point in me putting in the time and energy to be here.” Her voice was suddenly stern.

I didn’t know much about counselors but I was pretty sure it wasn’t very professional-like to tell your client that they are wasting your time . . . no matter how true it was.

I sat up in my seat and uncrossed arms.

“I’m here because my parents and my parents alone. So sorry if I can’t pretend like I want to sit here and discuss my so-called issues,” I said coldly.

 

Light Editing – After Bill’s Edit:

I sighed. Besides all the previous drama, I was stuck at home by myself on a Saturday. I didn’t even have my dad for company. He was out on Jefferson Street again, looking for anything suspicious. I was waiting for someone to come and put a “lame” stamp on my forehead.

Again, the same options popped into my head. I wasn’t calling Laura, and I wasn’t calling Robbie. The only difference was that Laura was probably willing to talk to me, and Robbie wasn’t. For the rest of the week at school, things had been . . . interesting between us. He wouldn’t even look in my direction. The only communication we had was the angry slamming of our lockers before heading off in our different directions. I wouldn’t go to the creek anymore because I was too afraid I would see him there. I knew I was being stupid, but I didn’t care. I had told Robbie to leave me alone, and he had decided to obey my wishes. But did that mean things had to be so cold between us?

I kept doing it. As much as I tried to stop myself, I couldn’t. Every day, I was pushing him away more and more – and I hated myself for it. I was even pushing Mrs. Koenig away. I gave one‑word answers to her questions and acted like I despised every second that I sat in her office.

“So . . . anything interesting happen with you and your new friend?” Mrs. Koenig asked.

“Nope,” I said slowly so the P made a popping noise.

“Have your grades been doing okay?”

“Don’t have a clue,” I said.

She seemed taken aback. We sat for a moment in silence.

“Is something bothering you, Collin?” she asked at last.

“Nope,” I lied.

“Are you sure?” She seemed concerned.

“Yup.” The P popped.

“Collin, if you don’t want to be here, you can always go back to class.” Her voice was suddenly stern. “No one is stopping you. And besides, if you’re just going to waste my time, then there is no point in me putting in the time and energy to be here.”

I didn’t know much about counselors, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t very professional to tell your client that they were wasting your time . . . no matter how true it was.

I sat up in my seat and uncrossed my arms. “The only reason I’m here is because of my parents,” I said coldly. “Sorry that I can’t pretend like I want to sit here and discuss my so-called issues.”

 

Medium Editing – Before Bill’s Edit:

The disaster of Apollo Twelve automatically concluded the U.S. state-of-emergency mission. Even more horrifying, permanent darkness was inflicted on the citizens of England that same day, as prophesied. McElroy secluded himself in solitude. Likewise, people throughout England hid indoors, terrified of the “Rein of Darkness.” The fulfillment of the prophecy laid out in The Rebellious Winter convinced the bishop that the unimaginable horror was going to happen. His thus far unsuccessful quest to save England from the evil prophecy, to annihilate Queen Jezebel and her demons, had taken a profound toll on his belief. He was certain that if he’d more readily risen to the task, evil wouldn’t have inflicted itself on England at this level. For days, he isolated himself, zealously adhering to the sacred oath that unlocked the supernatural power that was to conquer the forces of evil.

Darkness however plagued his country, throwing fear and panic throughout the nation. For four days the bishop had interceded passionately, battling to avert the pending massacre. But his efforts were wasted. If anything, the situation just got worst. Was his faith being tested? Or could it be that, in order for God to come forth with his miraculous intervention, McElroy would have to endure and conquer his fears?

Despite the temptation to succumb to defeat, the bishop rose from his prostrate position on the altar. With pleading eyes, he yearned for the promised divine intervention. His face flushed as his body stiffening with increasing strain, Bishop McElroy reluctantly walked up the stairs to the balcony and leaned against the rail. He stared out at the bronze crucifix above the altar and bowed his head.

“Merciful Father,” he began, “as your love and mercy shower the universe, the burden you’ve given me to deliver this nation from destruction, from the wrath of the evil Jezebel, is unbearable.” McElroy swallowed hard, trying to keep his desperation from taking over. “I know it’s time for me to take another step of faith. I can hear the millions crying out for mercy, desperate for miracles from your throne. As you’ve commissioned me to do this ultimate sacrifice, grant me the power to orchestrate signs and wonders on your behalf.”

“God, I know only you hold the power to contain the dark plagues of evil. By the precious blood of Christ who was once nailed on the cross to redeem the souls of this world from death and destruction, use this evil terror to manifest your reasons– the purpose of aborting the plans of our adversary the Queen of Hell!

“Almighty God life is so precious to you, so I know it is not your will to let demons wipe out the very existence of humanity, to imprison our souls and corrupt our mortal bodies. This evil that is attacking our country has never existed in your perfect plans for this world. We will not perish, the dark army of Satan will not be allowed to annihilate your purpose for this nation! Amen.”

 

Medium Editing – After Bill’s Edit:

The disaster of the Apollo 12 operation automatically concluded the US state-of-emergency mission. Even more horrifying, permanent darkness was inflicted on the citizens of England that same day, as prophesied.

McElroy secluded himself in solitude. Likewise, people throughout England hid indoors, terrified of the “Reign of Darkness.” The fulfillment of the prophecy laid out in The Rebellious Winter convinced the bishop that the unimaginable nightmare was coming to pass. His unsuccessful quest to save England from the evil prophecy, to annihilate Queen Jezebel and her demons, had taken a profound toll on his faith. He was certain that if he’d more readily risen to the task, evil wouldn’t have inflicted itself on England at this level. For days, he isolated himself, zealously adhering to the sacred oath that unlocked the supernatural power that was to conquer the forces of evil.

Darkness, however, plagued his country, casting fear and panic throughout the nation. For four days, the bishop had interceded passionately, battling to avert the pending massacre. But his efforts seemed to no avail. If anything, the situation had worsened. Was his faith being tested? Or could it be that, in order for God to come forth with his miraculous intervention, McElroy must first endure and conquer his fears?

Despite the temptation to succumb to defeat, the bishop rose from his prostrate position on the altar. With pleading eyes, he yearned for the promised divine intervention. His face flushed, his body stiffening with increasing strain, Bishop McElroy reluctantly climbed the stairs to the balcony and leaned against the railing. He gazed out at the bronze crucifix above the altar, bowed his head, and prayed.

“Merciful Father,” he began, “as your love and mercy shower the universe, the burden you’ve given me to deliver this nation from destruction, from the wrath of the evil Jezebel, is unbearable.” McElroy swallowed hard, trying to keep his desperation from taking over. “I know it’s time for me to take another step of faith. I can hear the millions crying out for mercy, desperate for miracles from your throne. As you’ve commissioned me to undergo this ultimate sacrifice, grant me the power to orchestrate signs and wonders on your behalf.

“God, I understand that only you hold the power to contain the dark plagues of evil. By the precious blood of Christ, who was once nailed on the cross to redeem the souls of this world from death and destruction, use this evil terror to manifest your purpose – the purpose of aborting the plans of our adversary, the Queen of Hell!

“Almighty God, because life is so precious to you, I know it is not your will to allow demons to wipe out the very existence of humanity, to imprison our souls and corrupt our mortal bodies. This evil that plagues our country has never existed in your perfect plans for this world. We will not perish! The dark army of Satan will not be allowed to annihilate your purpose for this nation! Amen.”

 

Heavy Editing – Before Bill’s Edit:

It was a beautiful spring morning, that day. Everyone was acting normal, but they were just acting because they all felt that something about that day was going to be like no other day. Sarah, put on a long white dress and for the first time wore a white head cover like a good muslim girl would do. She also wore her sun glasses to make it harder to identify her. She was about to commit the worst crime imaginable in Syria, worse than murder and robbery. She left the house early in the morning before anyone in the house could see her dressed in a suspicious manner. She had read the safety precautions on Facebook multiple times, yet she had never felt this scared. She was shaking in fear. This was the fear of everything, the government, the Mukhabarat, her family, her fiancé, her career, her life. Everything was on the line but a mysterious power was pushing her to do this. A thought that was hidden somewhere in her mind, suddenly surfaced and was overriding all other thoughts. Perhaps, it’s not even a full thought, but rather a word: dignity. The name “Friday of Dignity” captivated her and many others in Daraa. Just as she left the house, a chill ran down her spine and she ran back into a nearby shop, and bought gloves just for extra precaution. She didn’t want any of her finger prints left behind.

She slowly walked to the Omari mosque in the heart of the city of Daraa. It was packed, like never before. People were praying in the streets hours before the true onset of the Friday prayer sermon. Everyone was well disguised. Everyone knew that this was no ordinary prayer. She looked around to make sure no one recognized her, but the truth was that everyone was busy concealing their own identity. To her surprise, her old childhood friend, Felicia, was there. Felicia did a really poor job hiding her identity. The oddest part was that Felicia was a Christian. What was she doing there in the mosque and during the Friday prayer? And why was she wearing a head cover? A cold stream of wind set the already quiet audience into utter silence. A few minutes later the Imam declared the beginning of the Friday sermon. Judging from the crowd, you would have expected him to be talking about the approaching end of the world or judgment day, but instead it was just prayer as usual. Everyone knew that this was not going to be a usual prayer. The number of people kept doubling by the minute to cover an area much larger than the dimensions of the mosque. Soon afterwards, a small group of “late guests” joined in and started pushing their way to the front. They were dressed in normal clothes, but everyone knew who they were. They were the party spoilers . . . the Mukhabarat. The second sermon had started at that time, and hardly anyone was listening. Even the Imam himself was too busy looking around in disbelief as he spoke.

 

Heavy Editing – After Bill’s Edit:

It was a beautiful spring morning. Life had returned to relative normalcy, but most people merely went about their routines as a ruse, for they all felt that something about that day was going to be like no other day.

Sarah put on a long white dress, and for the first time wore a white head cover like a good Muslim girl. She also wore her sunglasses to make it harder to identify her. She was about to commit the worst crime imaginable in Syria – worse than murder and robbery.

She left the house early in the morning before anyone in her family could see her dressed in this suspicious manner. She had read the safety precautions on Facebook multiple times, yet she had never felt this scared. She shook in fear. This was the fear of everything: the government, the Mukhabarat, her family, her fiancé, her career, her life. Everything was on the line, and yet a mysterious power was pushing her to do this.

A thought hidden somewhere in her mind suddenly surfaced and overrode all other thoughts. Perhaps it wasn’t even a full thought, but rather a word: dignity. The name “Friday of Dignity” captivated her and many others in Daraa. As she left the house, a chill rippled down her spine, and she darted into a nearby shop where she bought gloves as an extra precaution. She didn’t want any of her fingerprints left behind.

She slowly walked to the Omari mosque in the heart of the city of Daraa. It was packed like never before. People were praying in the streets hours before the true onset of the Friday prayer sermon. Everyone was well disguised. Everyone knew that this was no ordinary prayer. She looked around to make sure no one recognized her, but the truth was that everyone was busy concealing their own identities.

To her surprise, her old childhood friend, Felicia, was there.  Felicia had done a poor job of disguising herself. The oddest thing about seeing her here was that she was a practicing Christian. What was she doing there in the mosque, and during the Friday prayer? And why was she wearing a head covering?

A cold stream of wind set the already quiet audience into utter silence. A few minutes later, the imam declared the beginning of the Friday sermon. Judging from the crowd, an outsider might have expected him to be talking about the approaching end of the world or judgment day. Everyone knew that this was not going to be a usual prayer. The number of people kept doubling by the minute to cover an area much larger than the dimensions of the mosque.

Soon afterward, a small group of late guests joined in and started pushing their way to the front. They were dressed in normal clothes, but everyone knew who they were. They were the party spoilers, the Mukhabarat. The second sermon had started at that time, and hardly anyone was listening. Even the imam himself was too busy looking around in disbelief as he spoke.

 

Questions about how a professional edit will improve your manuscript’s readability and help you reach your publishing goals? Call me at 505-401-1021 or send me an email: william@wgreenleaf.com. I answer my phone if I’m in the office, and I return emails promptly.