What We're Writing? Hank's Re-writing.

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN:  I'm in the midst of editing my new book, still called 'HANK'S UNTITLED NEW BOOK.'  It will not be called Her New Best Friend, (and you heard it here first) because Her New Best Friend might sound like a sequel to Her Perfect Life. And so it goes.  

So now I am cutting, tweaking, editing. Below are snaps of real pages from the manuscript. You can see the changes.

Herewith, a scene starring the sole narrator in this single point of view psychological novel of suspense. You don't need to know more at this point.  Read his, and then, when you're finished, I have a question for you.

HANK'S NEW BOOK  from Chapter 21

The gray metal door of Room 611 was marked FBI in peeling gray decals. Alyssa twisted the knob to open it, but it was locked. She pushed a square black button on the door jamb, heard a buzz from inside. She’d been so surprised by that—a government office should be open, shouldn’t it?—that she’d wanted to check her text reminders to make sure she had the correct place. But before she could get her phone unlocked, she’d heard footsteps inside, and then a click, and then Agent Hattie Parker stood in the opened doorway. 

“Thank you for being so punctual,” Parker said. “Come in. Agent Espinal will join us shortly.” 

 Parker might have been wearing the same black jacket and pants as yesterday, but there was not a wrinkle or a crease, and Alyssa could almost smell the starch in her pristine white shirt. 

 No receptionist. No waiting room. No thin-cushioned fifties-era couches, no stacks of old magazines on a government-issue coffee table. The door to Room 611 led directly to an office, a government-beige metal desk with a black desk pad and black phone on top; not a speck of dust, and if the room had been prepared for a private meeting. Outside the open slatted blinds of a double-wide window, the view revealed a brick and concrete pedestrian plaza. 

Beyond that, the complicated cornices and stone columns of the John Adams Building. Where, Alyssa knew, the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts sat, issuing their final verdicts on defendants’ futures. The irony was not lost on her. Maybe the FBI used that view as a reminder, or a downright threat, of what could happen if their interview subjects got on the wrong side of the law. Though court should be equally concerned with protecting people. Alyssa did not feel as if anyone was protecting her now. 

 “Have a seat, Ms. Macallen.” Agent Parker had somehow set her tone as a cross between solicitous hostess and drill sergeant. She looked at her watch, a chunk of black plastic and rubber. 

 “Are we being recorded?” Alyssa’s brain screamed lawyer-lawyer-lawyer but she knew that if she did that, called in an attorney and changed the entire dynamic, she’d lose what little control she had, and this whole thing might escalate to a place she could not afford to go. 

Afford, she thought again. She’d tough this out. See what she could find out. For as long as she could. 

 “I can’t record you without your permission, Ms. Mac--may I call you Alyssa?” 

 Parker was leaning toward solicitous hostess now, Alyssa thought. But her deference rang false, obvious enough to be annoying. 

 “Of course.” Alyssa matched her insincere tone and straightened in the black and silver metal chair; its rigid square shape meant more for easy storage than for human comfort. Tried to take back a bit of control. She was guest, an invited guest, and she could leave as easily as she’d arrived. They were FBI, but that didn’t mean she had to play the victim. 

“And it’s Hattie?” Alyssa went on, not waiting for an answer. “You came to my house last night at what I fear was an inconvenient time for me. So now that I have a bit of time to focus on your inquiries, how can I help you?” 

Alyssa heard the door rattle, then the click of a lock. 

“Sorry to be delayed. Agent Parker, Ms. Macallen.” Espinal handed Parker a manila envelope, which she put on the desk without looking inside. 

 This clearly was not her office, Alyssa thought again. But whose was it? It seemed impersonal, with no files or book-filled shelves, no stacks of papers, no personal knickknacks or weary yellowing plants lined up along the windowsill. She sneaked a peek into the upper right corner of the room, then the left, but didn’t see any cameras. 

“There are no cameras here, Ma’am,” Parker said. 

 “There’s no nothing here,” Alyssa said, trying to sound amused. “Is the FBI having money problems?” 

She heard an almost-laugh from Espinal. He’d stationed himself in front of the door, which made it awkward for her, since she could only look at one of them at a time. While they could both see her.  And it blocked her exit.

 She wondered if this was tactics, or simply too many people in a too-small room. Or maybe that was tactics, too. And they were taking long enough to get to the point. 

“As always,” Espinal said. “Most of our offices moved to Chelsea, as you might know. But we’ve kept a few satellite offices here, just for convenience. Proximity to the courthouse. And privacy. But Uncle Sam did not provide us much of a budget line item for decorating.”

 “Ah.” That made sense, Alyssa supposed. She looked at her own watch, not trying to hide her movement. 

 “We won’t be long, “ Espinal said. 

 “We hope,” Parker added. 

“We just have a few questions.” 

“And we hope you can help us.”

 It was like watching a tennis match to keep up with them. And without knowing which of the agents was in charge, it was difficult for Alyssa to avoid it.

HANK: Okay? How about that scene? Is there conflict? Sure. Tension? Sure. A decision in process? Sure. Stakes? You'd know them if you read what comes before.

Will you read this scene in HANK'S NEW UNTITLED BOOK? Nope. Like 19,000 other words, I cut the entire thing.

Boom. Gone.

Okay. Here's the deal. 

I ask myself every time: What work does this scene do? Hmm. 

We already know the FBI has talked to Alyssa--we were in that scene the day before. We have set up they are in a contentious cat and mouse situation. 

So...distilling what we actually learn in this scene: The FBI office is not what Alyssa expected. She doesn't want to be there, but she wonders what they're up to. She's worried about exactly what the agents think they know. And she is trying to take control of the situation.

So. What action do we have here: PROCESS.

And: We already know the things we get from this scene.

As a result: Gone. A scene you will never read in a book. 

And I was delighted to cut it.

Welcome to writing.

Reds and Readers, what do you think?