Andrea Caswell
Revision at the Bitter End

Ten years ago, I married a sailor. Sailing language soon entered my life, as sailors really do speak using specialized terms. My husband was building a wooden boat at the time, a 17-foot Swampscott dory. In the evenings, he updated me on his progress.

“The garboards are clamped. I still need to fair the laps and spile the batten.” In another month, he hoped to carve the false-stem and shape the boom-jaws.

As nonsensical as the lingo was, I noticed the stages and sheer volume of work required to build a boat were similar to the writing and revision process. My husband started with plans, and as well-conceived as they were, he needed to make adjustments along the way. Changing the angle of one board affected all the others, not unlike how changing a word or sentence requires a series of other changes to a writer’s work-in-progress.

During the last months of 2024, I was nearing the end of a book-length manuscript, working on a revision that required more “total rewrite” than “touch up” as I’d optimistically hoped. But I had a deadline—January 30—to send it to a reader. In those final weeks, as I lopped off scenes that didn’t work, reverted to adverbs when I couldn’t think of stronger verbs, and wrestled with formatting issues, I thought of myself as “at the bitter end.” The work had to get done, no matter how unpleasant or difficult or defeating it felt. 

It reminded me of the time my husband was in the basement, practicing tying and untying knots. He explained a knot called a bowline (pronounced like Boleyn) and told me he needed to take the bitter end and feed it through a loop.

“That’s a real thing?” I said. “The bitter end?” 

Of course it was. It refers to the end of a line that’s not attached to anything else. More sailing lingo we landlubbers use without realizing its origins! Like learning the ropes, the devil to pay, overhaul, and scuttlebutt.

At the bitter end of the revision process, you may start to encounter rough seas. Since I made it to the other side of my recent experience, here are a few survival tactics I found helpful:  

• Use a deadline to your advantage. Despite the word’s implication, it’s not trying to kill you—it’s helping you finish your work. 
• Remember it’s only a draft. Even the “final draft” is only a draft. Most likely, you’ll meet this scene or page or chapter again, and will have another chance to improve it in the future. Just do your very best on this draft with the time remaining.
• Make finite to-do lists. Instead of an overwhelming “complete Chapter Four,” name tasks as specifically as possible. p. 45 description of TV commercial; p. 48 change wording of phone call; p. 51 define “point of contact.” Crossing each item off the list helps you build momentum, and serves as a visual reminder of all you’ve accomplished already. 
• Resist the “bitterness” inherent at the bitter end. You’ll start to think your story is stupid, that nobody will want to read such drivel, that writing this book is ruining your life, etc. It’s a normal stress-response, your mind’s way of convincing you to quit this uncomfortable task. Keep your eyes on the prize—a finished draft—despite the difficulties. 
• Revision is a form of reimagining. As such, it carries with it the power of your imagination, which has no limits. I kept an index card taped above my desk with the reminder: Imagination is sacred. Allow yourself the vastness. 

At the bitter end of January, I recast my “finished draft” as a “completed draft,” knowing the work of revision won’t be finished for some time yet. This recent iteration of the manuscript will come back with comments and will require another round of revision. Like sailing, writing is a journey. My hope on this next draft is for fair winds and a following sea. Smooth sailing, as they say.

Andrea Caswell holds an MFA in fiction and nonfiction from the Bennington Writing Seminars. She’s Senior Fiction Editor at Cleaver Magazine and is on the faculty of the Cleaver Workshops. She runs Cleaver’s Short Story Clinic, offering revision feedback on fiction up to 5000 words. Andrea’s work appears or is forthcoming in Tampa Review, The Coachella Review, River Teeth, The Normal School, Atticus Review, Columbia Journal, and others. She’s an alum of the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. For more information, please visit www.andreacaswell.com.

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