Revising an Action Scene

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This is the actual 2nd and 3rd version of an action scene I wrote to introduce a character in my Work in Progress. I seem to have lost the first version....I was hoping not because it was even clunkier than the 2nd.

The 1st one here today is 325 or so words long.
The 2nd is 280.
I tightened it. Took out extraneous words, found shorter and better ways to set the scene, because this is both an intro to this character and an intro to a setting that's unusual for me (the guy is soon headed west, don't panic)

I just thought it was interesting to read both versions and it might be instructive about how to make a scene keep moving by limiting asides, internal thoughts, scene setting...and yet including all of that. just including it with out stopping the action.

Keep this in mind...Mitch Pierce wasn't in the first draft of the book, although he existed in my mind, I just was going to introduce him later.

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Then I didn't put in this origin scene. Instead I had him show up at the ranch and the reason he was there...is this scene. I told it in backstory.

All these decisions have to be made, used, discarded, come at from different angles.

I decided rather than 'backstory' old Mitch here....I'd act it out.

Show don't tell right?

So enter the mysterious 'Other Character' who know one will quite know why he's even there...until it all comes clear.

I hope I can make it come clear.

Oh for heaven's sakes, of COURSE I can make it come clear-ish.

OLDER VERSION

Mitch Pierce caught a reflection of a rifle in the window of the mansion near his home. He dropped to the ground just as a bullet shattered the glass.

Scrambling, diving, another bullet fired and kicked up splinters from the spindly tree he dove behind. Oil lamps barely cut through the gloom on this stretch of New York City’s finest neighborhood. It was the middle of the night in a part of town with no crime. And Mitch had been careful to check if he was being followed.

Instead, like a fool, he’d never considered that someone might be waiting.

This wasn’t some random thief.

The tree he picked was too thin and the bullets tore at the bark. Mitch rolled, crawled on his belly, crouched and leapt, dodging and moving, keeping the tree between him and his attacker.

The rifle gouged the dirt inches from his head. His attacker had sharp eyes in this deeply shadowed ground.

A set of steps that fronted the house lay just ahead, offering the only shelter. Staying low, he ran for it. The rifleman kept up his firing. Mitch threw himself forward and hit his right shoulder on the side of the steps, so hard he was afraid the bone snapped. He was going to need his right arm, but with it or not, he’d find a way to survive this.

Five shots, six, seven, a repeating rifle and a good one. The second he reached the meager shelter, he came up with his pistol drawn, firing long and hard into the park across the street. It was a goodly distance for a pistol, but Mitch’s gun was a good one, too.

He didn’t need to aim. He’d done all his figuring while he ran. A cry from across the street ended the attack.

Mitch sprinted straight for the gunman. The recklessness that had made him rich rode him hard now.

No one bothered Mitch Pierce without paying a hard price.

And being shot at was surely a bother.

REVISED VERSION

Mitch Pierce caught a reflection of a rifle in the window. He dropped to the ground just as a bullet shattered the glass behind him.

Scrambling, diving, another bullet fired and kicked up splinters from the spindly tree he dove behind. Gas street lights barely cut through the gloom.

The tree he picked was too thin and the bullets tore at the bark. Mitch rolled, crawled on his belly, crouched and leapt, dodging and moving, keeping the tree between him and his attacker.

The rifle gouged the dirt inches from his head. His attacker had sharp eyes in this deeply shadowed ground.

A set of steps that fronted the house lay just ahead, offering the only shelter. Staying low, he ran for it. The rifleman kept up his firing. Mitch threw himself forward and hit his right shoulder on the side of the steps, so hard he was afraid the bone snapped. He was going to need his right arm, but with it or not, he’d find a way to survive this.

Five shots, six, seven, a repeating rifle and a good one. The second he reached the meager shelter, he came up with his pistol drawn, firing long and hard into the park across the street. It was a goodly distance for a pistol, but Mitch’s gun was a good one, too.

He didn’t need to aim. He’d done all his figuring while he ran. A cry from across the street ended the attack.

Mitch sprinted straight for the gunman. The recklessness that had made him rich rode him hard now.

No one bothered Mitch Pierce Warden without paying a hard price.

And being shot at was surely a bother.

CAN YOU TELL A DIFFERENCE? Did you notice I sort of changed his name?

Is it better or is it the SAME and I am doing all this revising for NO REASON!

Let's talk revisions. Editing. Yeesh. You know, I love it. Editing and revising gives me peace of mind when I'm writing because I know I'm going to have to come back and fix it, which let's me power onward.

So how do you do it...revise I mean. And do revisions trap you and keep you from moving forward? We can fall into the trap of eternal revisions.

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