I am frantically making yet another editorial pass at my manuscript to get it ready to submit to the Copyright Office. I cannot believe the writing oversights, but here we are at edit #99, and I am still finding glaring errors. Take, for instance, this scene:
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Over the coming days, Leslie began arrangements for Arlinda to fly to Cleveland to continue treatment at the Cleveland Clinic. With other family members around, there would be more opportunities to share the duties of supporting Arlinda through her treatment. The commitment it would take to help her prompted more people to be by her side and might provide the encouragement she needed to overcome this most recent turn in her health. They were going to arrange the flight for Friday, the 18th.
When Leslie gave Rob the news, his face went still, that familiar shutdown spreading from his temples down through his jaw. His shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly. His mind retreated to calculations to contain what he was trying to process. /Cleveland. 2,300 miles. Five-hour flight. Three hours’ difference./ The facts assembled themselves like a protective barrier against the tightness spreading across his chest. Maybe that is what emotions feel like, when the throat suddenly goes dry. He looked past his own selfish desires to determine the benefits the move could provide Arlinda. He tried to prioritize her needs over the prospect of his loneliness.
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The scene starts, focused on Leslie. But Leslie does not have a POV in the manuscript. This scene is in Rob's point of view. I like to train my readers whose POV it is by mentioning that character's name first. Bonus points for having them speak first; it gives them more agency in the scene. In the edit, I moved sentences around, and set it squarely in Rob's POV:
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Rob heard Leslie tell him the family was looking into flying Arlinda back to Cleveland so she could get the most advanced cancer care through Cleveland Clinic. They were arranging the flight for Friday, the 18th.
His face went still with the familiar shutdown that spread from his temples down through his jaw. His shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly. His mind retreated to calculations to contain what he was trying to process. /Cleveland. 2,300 miles. Five-hour flight. Three hours’ difference./ The facts assembled themselves like a protective barrier against the tightness spreading across his chest. Maybe that is what emotions feel like, when the throat suddenly goes dry. He looked past his own selfish desires to determine the benefits the move could provide Arlinda.
With other family members around, there would be more opportunities to share the duties of supporting Arlinda through her treatment. The commitment it would take to help her required more people to be by her side and might provide the encouragement she needed to overcome this most recent turn in her health.
Pushing away any sense of contrition about his inability to help Arlinda, he decided to prioritize her needs over the prospect of his loneliness. He agreed with Leslie.
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From the peculiarly phrased first sentence, it shows Rob's dissociation in hearing the news. It is his POV, but he is removed from the action. The scene now gives the reader the information as Rob processes it. First, as amorphous information. Then his connection to the information coupled with the separation from Arlinda. There is a third layer portrayed to the reader. Rob would be diagnosed with autism eight years later, but you can see his curiosity over his alexithymia, his inability to identify emotions in his body. A further separation from himself.