Renumbering chapters

Hi friends,

Before I dive in to the glamorous topic of renumbering chapters, I want to remind you that I’ll be in Queens for a conversation with Brooke Shaffner and Jess DeCourcy Hinds on Friday, May 3, 7:00 p.m., at Kew & Willow Books. We’ll be chatting about gender and street art in literature plus a lot more, and I hope you’ll join us!

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Okay, now for the real excitement: renumbering chapters. Yesterday I finished a(nother) revision of a novel that’s very close to my heart, a literary murder mystery that explores, among other things, the pressure society puts on girls and women to be caretakers. I mean, every novel I’ve written is close to my heart, but this one has it’s own special, long-time place somewhere deep and rooted, and every time I think I’m done with it, it calls me back.

I’ve revised this novel a number of times, with two mentors and one agent, but this last pass was solely for me. I’d been so focused on addressing notes about structure and mystery development that somewhere along the line I let the story I wanted to tell get lost. So before I was ready to let it go—either out into the publishing world or into cold storage—I needed to put everyone’s notes aside and focus on the reason I wanted to tell this story in the first place.

I believe with this revision I’ve accomplished that, and I’m feeling proud and drained and hopeful and utterly at peace with whatever comes next. But before I call it done with a capital “D,” I have two things to do: renumber the chapters, because I wrote some new ones and combined others, and print it out for a final read-through so I can make any last edits.

As you can guess, I’m at the point where I need to renumber the chapters. Usually, I write first thing in the morning, when my brain is still somewhat empty and the house is quiet. When I woke this morning and remembered I had to renumber chapters, I was less than enthusiastic to get to work.

But.

Then I realized that although renumbering is a mundane task, it’s also a meaningful one. It’s the kind of detail that remains invisible when it’s done right but causes reader (and editor) confusion if it’s done wrong. A chapter number therefore carries a certain amount of authority, as one signal to readers that the author is in control—or not—competently guiding them through the story—or not.

And perhaps more important, from my perspective as the writer, it’s a commitment to this new version of the story, a confirmation that there are no more big changes to come. That I’ve told the story I want to tell in the way I think it needs to be told. So it’s like the final breath of a meditation or the closing prayer at temple. A ritual to acknowledge and celebrate all the work I’ve done and say a proper farewell, at least for now.

So here I go, ready to renumber and print, and very much looking forward to spending these maybe-final, meaningful hours with my story. I hope something you’re doing today or this week brings you joy, closure, fulfillment, or whatever you need. Meanwhile, I look forward to next time.

Yours,

Jen