An Update on Ink and Waves

I have reached that stage of a manuscript where the story is finished and yet not finished at all.

Right now, Ink and Waves is sitting in front of me in its full, sprawling glory while I work through my copy edit checklist. This is the part where I insist the manuscript becomes a more disciplined version of itself.

I want fewer words. Tighter sentences. Less wandering.

In case it’s not clear, I am an enthusiastic overwriter.

I mean, why say something in three words when eleven are right there, waiting to be used?

So this stage has become a kind of negotiation. I trim. The manuscript resists. I trim again.

Sometimes I’ll remove a paragraph and feel very pleased with myself, only to discover I’ve quietly rephrased the same idea two pages later. It’s a process.

The tricky part isn’t just reducing the word count—it’s making sure the story still feels like itself afterward.

Cutting Without Losing the Heart

There’s a rhythm to a book that’s easy to disturb if you cut too aggressively. A sentence might seem unnecessary on its own, but it carries tone, or pacing, or a small emotional beat that holds the scene together. So instead of cutting everything that looks excessive, I’m trying to be thoughtful about what needs to stay.

Or, at least, that’s the goal.

Once I wrestle this draft of Ink and Waves into a sleeker, more manageable shape, it will head off to my copy editor.

It’s always an interesting moment to hand a book over to fresh eyes after living inside it for so long!

From there, it comes back to me for another round of polishing and/or addressing the editor’s comments. Then it moves on to proofreading and final checks.

Each step is its own phase and deserves its own kind of attention.

After I have a confirmed page count, the pieces come together. While the cover designer completes the covers, I will format the interior.

Each step takes time, often four to six weeks apiece.

So while there are still several months ahead in the process, this is the point where the finish line feels real. It’s not immediate, but visible. Close enough to recognize.

For now, I’m here, paring down sentences, arguing with paragraphs, and trying to convince this very wordy book to be a little quieter without losing what makes it itself.

The header photo is a composite image. Base image by Mel Poole on Unsplash