Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Revision work on the novel in progress, Memories of Why, continues. I work on it everyday. 40% completed, I’m being a tortoise in this endeavor, slow and steady. Not infrequently, I read and revise a chapter three or four times. I mostly did this because it was overwritten to hell and needs to have overbearing words cut away.
But it’s satisfying and entertaining, and keeps me out of trouble, so I’ll keep on keeping on.
A day when the writing and editing ‘goes well’ leaves me energized and optimistic. Wish I could bottle it as an elixir and drink a bit every morning.
It was the best of stuff and the worse of crap.
I’m working on two items in parallel: a new novel and a finished novel now undergoing its fifth revision.
The new project has that exciting blush attached. Unencumbered by an ending, story and characters emerge through flash floods of thoughts and poured through fingers and keyboards into the ‘puter, evolving into a novel. Great, let’s keep it going. It’s the fun, creative part, where anything goes. I’ll see if it works later.
Meanwhile, on the editing side, I’m facing the dark side of my process. The chapter under the knife in the finished novel makes me gag and cringe. What happened here? Why isn’t it working, I whine to myself. Can no one save me? Or it?
No, this is up to me. After working on it the other day, I shut it down and told myself, leave it for a bit. Let it vacate my mind. Let it ferment untouched and see what happens after the interval. Perhaps insights will arrive; or maybe it won’t seem as bad.
Good plan but when I took it back up, insights were like peace talks with Russia: nothing there. And it was just as bad as before. As waiting didn’t work, I’ve concluded, I’ll increase focus and concentration, drop back one chapter, and read back into it. On reflection, after writing that, I can see that I was confused about what I was writing about, feeling through it, and unsuccessfully capturing and refining what I know, what I’m showing, and its impact on the story. Part of that is that although the novel is in its fifth cycle of revision and editing, this chapter was added in during the fourth round. I thought it was needed; I still feel it might be, but I’m flexible on the matter. I’ll see how it flows.
Alright, time to coffee up so I can novel up and work through this revision.
Happy writing, y’all. Cheers
I picked up my laptop bag and headed to the door. “Off to write,” I told my wife. “I’m pretty excited. Just fifteen pages left of this draft to revise.”
“How long will fifteen pages take?”
Pausing, I broke out in a broad grin. “Well, that depends on how it’s written.” As I laughed, she joined me. I went on, “I mean, it really depends on how it reads and if it still fits with the story after the revisions I’ve made.”
“I see,” she answered.
Shrugging, I turned back to the door. “And then I begin again.”
It’s just one of those days, unpredictable to me, when the writing effort gains sharper clarity and focus. I think the bottom line is that after weeks of thinking and writing and editing and revising, my understanding of the story as originally written crystallized and is now much higher. This feeds to greater focus and concentration, because I’m more certain about where I’m going. Which then generates greater writing energy and enthusiasm, pressing me to keep writing and editing, keep going, keep going.
But, writer’s butt is setting in. The cheeks are compaining about the chair’s hard surface. And though I’d go on, my stomach is querying, “Hey, are we going to eat anytime soon? Very hungry here. Hello? Anyone feel me?”
And my brain is harping, “You need to run errands. Go shopping and get needed supplies for yourself, the house, the wife, and the cats, and add gas to the car because it’s almost on empty.”
Moments like this are always bittersweet. So much was accomplished, leaving me feeling joyous over my progress. But I must stop. There will be other days. Some will be like a slog through knee deep mud, but there will be others like this, when I feel like I’m soaring.
In the muses we must trust, amen.
Michael Seidel, writer 