Wordsmiths' Practical Editing Challenge

We had a fun Wordsmiths last time. Karen wrote a poem about the Thames Court in the 1970s and Kathleen offered a bit of a character sketch of the time. First-timer Susan read a marvellous poem she had written about local girls mixing with roadies at the visiting fairground that evoked the scent of candy floss, carousel music, and the gritty caravans just beyond the bright lights.

We thought we would get back to some practical skills development for next week. Karen has provided an exercise in editing from Writing Magazine. There are 30 identified improvements that could be made to the short piece below. Each of us should take a crack at finding them, offering at least 10. We'll talk through the 30 together on the night. Get out your red pens and good luck!

See you upstairs at the Thames Court.

EDITING CHALLENGE:
Willow was trying to move the feather with her mind.
So far, it hadn’t gone well. She’d spent the best part of the morning staring at it and now, not only did she have a headache, but the feather hadn’t budged. The most exciting thing to happen over the last couple of hours was when the window had blown open and the feather moved, and it had taken her a couple of seconds to realise that it was down to the wind and not the power of her mind. Telekinesis was not coming naturally to her. She narrowed her eyes and concentrated, hard.
‘Give up, for the love of god. I’m bored.’ Jordan had been sitting on top of her dresser for the whole time, watching and waiting, silently. Now, he stretched and yawned, his skinny frame silhouetted by the light coming in from the window. His fuzzy hair was outlined in white, and his features were obscured; even more than usual.
‘Leave, if you’re bored.’
She knew it was only a matter of time – time and focus. She’d already put out a match flame by staring at it. It stood to reason that since a feather was heavier than fire, it would be harder to control.
‘You’ll be late,’ Jordan said.
He was idly kicking the dresser now – thump, thump, thump.
‘Stop it! Someone will hear you! Anyway,, I don’t want to go.’
Was she imagining it, or did the feather just move a fraction of an inch?
‘You have to go. It’s your birthday. It’s your party. They’ll notice if you’re not there.’
She made a face at him. ‘I don’t like people.’
‘You like me.’
‘You’re not people.’
‘Thanks.’
But Jordan was right. Her party dress was hanging on the back of the door; a shiny, pink thing with ra-ra skirt and layers of net.