Time...

Well, it's been a while.  Over a week.  I think I must have gotten lost somewhere in the region of Skyrim.  Sorry about that.

Anyway, last time I talked about fan fiction, and how over time a piece I had received much commendation for turned out to look a little dog-eared.  My plan was to tinker with that and polish the overall piece, to make it suitable for enshrining here on the altar of the Internet.  Obviously I have been busy lately, and have not really had time to get out my red pen*.  Instead I have a climactic scene from a fan fiction I wrote years and years ago that could still do with a little dusting.  Here is the original scene, as written in the year 2001:

Hunched over the decaying, hideously disfigured body of his mother, Luke Skywalker glared up the stairs at the silent, immobile figure in the throne. At the side of the high-backed chair, slicing through the silence with his mechanical breathing, Darth Bane gazed back down at the boy.

"The other is here," Palpatine said suddenly, and, as if to confirm his word, the turbolift hissed open, and a young human female with chocolate brown hair slipped quietly into the room, then gasped at seeing her brother's frail state.

"Luke!" she cried, and knelt beside him. "Are you alright?" she asked, trying to avoid the desturbing...thing that was lying on the floor beside her. The thing with equally brown hair... Suddenly a realisation struck Leia. "Mother..."

Luke nodded, slowly, and turned to face his sister. His eyes were sunken in deep, purple sockets, and the rest of his skin was disturbingly pale. He also smelled strangely, as if he was burning.

"Excellent," Palpatine said, and rose from his throne.

Leia looked up at him, then at the shadow-like figure to his side. The black figure did not move.

Palpatine, however, continued to stride forward. "I now have the last in the line of the Jedi at my hands..." he said, and raised his hands before himself, stretching his fingers out.

Luke winced, and seemed to become very tense. This didn't help Leia's already frought nerves.

"Now, the Jedi shall become extinct, and The Sith will have their final revenge!" the Emperor spat, his face contorting with anger. Suddenly, blue bolts of electricity shot out from his fingertips, and seared their way through the air towards Luke and Leia, wrapping themselves around their violently shaking bodies.

Leia screeched in pain, but Luke remained quite silent, having destroyed his voice box already from screaming so much.

The crackling energy vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and the Emperor grinned at the two smoking, twitching bodies.

Leia slowly raised her gaze upwards to Darth Bane's metal face-plate, and pleaded. "Master, please..."

Deep in the black helmet of Darth Bane, an old man blinked, and glanced sadly down at the Skywalkers, remembering when he had pleaded with their father to spare his life and save him over two decades ago, when the Jedi Council had been all but destroyed. He began to slowly stride away from the throne, forcing his metal body to obey his will, and reached out to the cloaked figure in front of him.

The Emperor raised his hands again, and blue energy sparked from them. However, instead of hitting the cowering young Skywalkers before him, they screeched over their heads. The Emperor noticed he was rising above the ground quickly, due to the metal hands clamped around his cloak. He roared as the energy crackled around him and the black figure who carried him, and screamed as he was dropped over the side of the railings beside his throne, into the chasm leading to the very bottom of the Death Star.

The black, metal figure dropped to his knees at the railings, and the blue energy that had coursed through him finally wrapped around his helmet then vanished. Kenobi slumped back against the side of the throne, as a young woman limped up the steps and crouched beside him.

"Thank you..." Leia whispered.

And here is the Special Edition:

Luke Skywalker glared up the stairs at the silent, immobile figure in the throne.  He stood hunched over the decaying disfigured body of his mother.   Atop the stairs, at the side of his master's chair like a Cyborrean battlehound, Darth Bane gazed back down at the boy.  His mechanical breathing sliced the silence. 

"The other is here," Palpatine said.  As if to confirm his word, the turbolift hissed open, and a young human female with chocolate brown hair slipped quietly into the room.  She gasped at seeing her brother's frail state.

"Luke!" she cried, and knelt beside him. "Are you all right?" she asked, trying to avoid the disturbing...thing that was lying on the floor beside her. The thing with equally brown hair... A whisper in the back of her mind, and suddenly a realisation struck Leia. "Mother..."

Luke nodded, slowly, and turned to face his sister. His eyes were sunken in deep, purple sockets, and the rest of his skin was pale. The smell of burning hung in the air.

"Excellent," Palpatine said, and rose from his throne.

Leia looked up at him, then at the shadow-like figure to his side. The black figure did not move.

Palpatine, however, continued to stride forward. "I now have the last in the line of the Jedi at my hands..." he said, and raised those crooked old hands before himself.  He stretched his fingers out.

Luke winced, became tense. Leia looked from him to the Emperor, neck whipping frantically.

"Now, the Jedi shall become extinct, and The Sith will have their final revenge!" the Emperor spat, his face contorting with anger. Blue bolts of electricity shot out from his fingertips and seared their way through the air towards Luke and Leia.  The surge of energy wrapped itself around their violently shaking bodies.

Leia screeched in pain.  Luke could no longer.

The crackling energy vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and the Emperor grinned at the two smoking, twitching bodies.

Leia slowly raised her gaze upwards to Darth Bane's metal face-plate, and pleaded. "Master, please..."

Deep in the black helmet of Darth Bane, an old man blinked.  He looked sadly down at the Skywalkers, remembering when he had pleaded with their father to spare his life and save him over two decades ago, when the Jedi Council had been all but destroyed. He began to walk.  Slowly, step by step, he strode away from the throne, forcing his metal body to obey his will.  Bane reached out to the cloaked figure in front of him.

The Emperor raised his hands again.  Blue energy sparked from his fingertips.  However, instead of hitting the cowering young Skywalkers before him, they bolts screeched over their heads. The Emperor cried out; he was rising above the ground quickly.  Metal hands clamped around his cloak. He roared as the energy crackled around him and the black figure who carried him.  His screamed hung in the chamber as he was dropped over the side of the railings beside his throne, into the chasm leading to the very bottom of the Death Star.

The black, metal figure dropped to his knees at the railings, and the blue energy that had coursed through him finally wrapped around his helmet then vanished.  Kenobi slumped back against the side of the throne, as a young woman limped up the steps and crouched beside him.

"Thank you..." Leia whispered.

Quite a difference, right?  It still isn't perfect writing, and it may suffer from some of the common issues of fan fiction such as the rush to get the story out of the author's powerful imagination and onto the page.  It surprises me, looking over the whole piece, that I managed to retell the Star Wars saga in 55,000 words.  What would be a 20 page battle scene in a modern novel has been told in a few paragraphs.  That breathless enthusiasm is common in young writers and fan fiction, but it is almost amusing looking back now, when I struggle to cut a short story under 10,000 words.

Most of the changes are word order issues and cleaning up that speaks for itself.  Another large chunk is showing, rather than telling.  That age-old advice to writers is usually difficult to keep in mind when hammering out your vision on a keyboard, but I find that reviewing after a break tends to catch it.  That is, of course, when it is quite apparent - sometimes the difference is not as clear as text-dump histories vs constant point-of-view observations.

Another problem, and another trait I have found common in fan fiction, is the use of passive voice.  I went through a phase of writing in the passive voice quite consistently, reporting rather than exploring a story, and it is a habit that sometimes creeps in if I don't keep an eye on my writing.  Again, it tends to be easy to catch on a review, but it is also something that I find is not always a problem.  Passive voice, along with telling rather than showing and Stephen King's much-hated adverbs, are often treated as cardinal sins in the writing world, but they exist for a purpose and can be effective.  Toward the end of the passage I have left a segment in passive voice to give the impression that the reader is now a distant, remote viewer of unfathomable proceedings - much as Luke and Leia would likely feel, watching Darth Bane turn on his master and save their lives as they recover from being tortured.  

Hopefully you can see the difference and even more hopefully you agree with me that the revised version is a much more solid piece of writing.  Unlike George Lucas, I tried to restrain myself from cramming in unnecessary fluff.  Either way, let me know what you think.

Until next time, here it is, your moment of zen:

*I do not actually use a pen.  In fact, due to injury I can barely hold one, but consider this pen to be a metaphorical one, mightier than the metaphorical sword.