One of the things that is most useful to me, when I’ve finished the first draft of a book, is to read it out loud. I used to read the books to my kids If, at chapter’s end, they said, “more!” I was okay. If they said, “Can I go out and play now?” I was not okay. They, however, are grown up and gone. These days I might read the book to my wife, a tough critic. But what I like most to do—and which is most productive—is read to a school class. I usually go to a local school, a school for kids who have learning problems. They have dyslexia, dysgraphia, etc., and, of course, are smart kids who have developed all kinds of compensatory skills, among them being wonderful listeners. They provide terrific insights to my work, both positive and negative. But what is it that I listen to most? As listeners, they are very polite, too, so they won’t say anything while I read during my bi-weekly half-hour sessions. BUT—they will squirm and shift their feet if the pace of the book slackens, if I’ve become too verbose, too complex. More than anything else, I listen for those body movements. With pen in hand—when I read out loud, I always have a pen in hand—I mark those restless spots. Then I go home, and cut. I suspect—though I tell them—they have no idea how helpful they are.