Tag: editing

The Progress Reports

“How’s the writing going?” I’m asked after a session.

“Did you have a good writing session?” another asks later.

“How’s the book coming along?” a companion queries me when I meet.

And I want to respond with a lot of information. I’ve written sixty thousand plus words. The book excites me. The ideas, characters and settings are all lively, energizing me when I sit down with it. That’s how it is on most days.

But some days, my writing sessions aren’t about the laptop’s clicking keys. Some days, I sit and talk to myself, or I’m walk and talk to myself. (Walking is a great way to write.) “Why did this happen? Because that happened. What did he do? What did she do? So what happens next with her?”

On those days, I’m likely to do a lot of spot editing and polishing, re-reading what was written about one of the story lines to find the path and generate enough light to look ahead to ‘what’s next’. Paradoxically, these are often the most exciting and enjoyable sessions because I’m solving a problem, and I also see clear progress of the novel being written. It’s all coming together. I’m assembling the puzzle, I’m learning the fuller story, and gaining greater understanding of my characters and the setting. I’m fortunate to write another 800-1,000 words on those days.

These sort of days prove, it’s not about the word count.

On all writing days (which is about three hundred sixty-one days of the year), though, I answer the questions with the same non-committal, almost laconic manner, “It’s going good.” I know they’re being polite and supportive. It’s like asking, “How is your day?” A full report isn’t expected, just a general summary, brief, if you please. We’re all just being polite. I hold back for the blog posts to wax more enthusiastically, but even there, I restrain myself. I’m just one of seven hundred gazillion writers posting and writing, gluing my sanity back together and casting the tea leaves, trying to make something out of the voices in my head who urge, “Write this down.”

But sometimes, when I’m writing, I can’t help myself, and I laugh out loud at what I thought or wrote. Nobody looks up, because, you know, I may look harmless, but I might be crazy. You can never tell.

They don’t know that I’m just a writer. I leave my badge at home.

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Pounding the Rock

I’m pounding the rock, you know?

Maintainin’.

Chillin’.

Keeping it real. Staying cool.

Tuning out distractions.

Focusing.

Staying the course.

That’s what’s needed sometimes. Sometimes it’s not a piece of cake, a day at the office, easy come, easy go. Sometimes the words are cold iron on the anvil. It’s like rowing up stream. Pushing a boulder up a mountain. One step forward, two steps back.

But I’m going the distance. The whole nine yards.

The whole shebang.

Playing for keeps.

I got my eye set on the prize. I’m ready to seize the brass ring.

I’m not just making promises. I’m here for the long haul.

All this comes, not from reading sports and political news, but from getting beached in a chapter. My head screams, “You’ve lost the plot,” but my tail shouts, “Stay the course.” I’m at a point where I need to go or get off the pot, know what I’m saying? I need to make the opportunities count.

So, after drifting through a QSM and an one point five hours of writing time, and editing, revising and polishing the chapter in progress to the point where I’m trapped, a decision is finally accepted.

It ain’t happening today.

Accepted, with a deep breath. The breath is not of relief nor regret, but simple acceptance that I want to move forward and I need some way around this obstacle.

So —

I write a note at the break: <TK: Bridge required.> That’s highlighted in yellow so I don’t overlook it. I use the <TK> format for convenience for anything that needs addressing. I write like crazy. In essence, that means that while I’m mildly mindful, I’m more interested in capturing lightning in a bottle and writing down the bones. I basically don’t want to be slowed down at that point, so I’ll set it up to be done later. Sometimes it’s research, or the scene needs to be cleaned up for clarification, pacing or continuity. Once in a while, I can’t remember a minor character’s name or someone’s hair color, or other small detail that I think I want to include. I put a note beginning with <TK and explain why it’s there. I also date these entries. Then, when the first draft is finished, I search for <TK, find them and fix them. I’ve usually fixed them before the first draft is completed because I hunt back and forth through the manuscript as I work, tearing out cliches and passive writing, looking for sharper and crisper descriptions, expanding on and subtracting from passages to better fit the narrative that has emerged and to accommodate the characters’ arcs. That’s necessary because my vision of the narrative changes as the story clarifies and evolves. As Bob Muslim noted in his post, “Edit Mode, Anyone?”, “As I write and the story comes alive, things change.” Right on.

This point today is a weird misery for me. A failure. It’s not the first time it’s happened but it’s not common. I don’t care if it happens to everyone, either. It’s personal.

I’ve been fortunate to be able to dial up a scene’s framework, sit down and beginning hammering it out, then shaping and re-shaping it later. It’s not always been that way, but this is what comes from establishing a discipline of writing, writing, writing, writing. Naturally, that’s what I attempted to do today — and yesterday, actually.

Some of this obstacle today is from impatience. I know how other scenes and action spreads out. They excite me, and I’m eager to get to it because that’s the fun part of fiction writing. This writing slowdown is also caused by real life bleedover. Personal matters, issues and problems arose that absorbed time, energy and thought, leaving the writer a little depleted in those areas. Hence the mock pep talk of cliches that began this post.

The thing about these moments is to not let them consume me. Andrea Lundgren had a post, “Do You Write Chronologically?” over on Ryan Lanz’s site, “A Writer’s Path” (which I highly recommend). Overall, I’m comfortable with jumping out of chronological sequence (especially in this novel, which has a, ahem, interesting chronological pattern). I think of it like other projects, like painting a room. The order that I write is only important as part of completing the entire project to my satisfaction.

Yet, yet, it’s not easy to decide, sometimes, to jump out of order. And this is because this scene is not quite coming to me, not in its entirety. And that vexes me.

So, let it go, for now. Let it go. Come back to it later. Maybe later, by the time the entire novel is completed, this scene will be overcome by events and therefore unnecessary. Maybe, even now, I know that, but I’m too intimate with it to say good-bye.

Whatever. When you’re given lemons, you make lemonade.

Or so I’ve been told.

 

 

 

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Writing BIZ-ness

Just read Kate Colby’s post on writing every day. And I’m going to post an excerpt here from her:

And as an independent author, I mean B–capital IZ–ness. There’s a lot to do. I’m currently editing my second novel, plus writing and publishing a series of nonfiction booklets. Add in this blog, my author newsletter, social media, organizing promotional opportunities, emailing my cover designer … you get the point. There’s a lot of shit to do (I say “shit” lovingly – being an author really is the best job in the world to me).

So, can I find time to write every day? Yes. And you can, too. If you really simplify your schedule and overcome your laziness, you can write every single day. And we absolutely should. Every word we write makes us better.

And I’m like, yes, absolutely. My problem is the converse: making/finding/dedicating the time to the business end.

There is the website. Nothing done on it. Marketing. Well, I’ve poked a few FB ads, some Amazon ads, with a smattering of results. Haven’t pursued reviews, haven’t gotten more aggressive about it.

It comes down to this basic dichotomy within me. I enjoy reading and writing, and all the books out there are manna to me, but I dislike the grubby business side. I’m a retiring guy, self-effacing, who shuns the spotlight.

Yet I want the spotlight, too, want to be validated by other writers and readers as contributing something worthwhile to this eternal conversation about what is, was, might have been, and what might never be. Plus, my steadfast wife deserves rewards, like some payment back for the moody, snarling hours when she wants to do something — or say something — and I clip her with, HELLO, I’M WRITING. Even the cats are subjected to this response (although they, one, do not accept my response, and two, seem to know when I’m writing, like they’ve been put on alert to stop me). I’ve become better at not acting like this (because my awareness increased, not only of my behavior, but its impact on my life and relationships) but my writing brain never seems to be completely turned off. It – they – the writers, editors and readers within – are always pouncing on things seen, read, heard, thought, felt, and treat it like a gold medal starting gun, racing away.

And I know all of this about myself, see it as clearly the Perseids over Crater Lake in the dark morning’s softest hours, but I seem to be able to change it as much as I can change that sky.

Yet I know…I must. It doesn’t make me happy.

Yeah, in my dream world, I have dual, even triple lives, where I’m writing all the time, I’m published and receiving income and doing all the right accomplished author shit (borrowing from Kate), and yet I’m still living a full and healthy life as a functioning husband, and not a writing zombie.

Colby finishes her post with encouragement:

Editing counts. Revising counts. Outlining counts. Writing that dreaded book description counts.

The only thing that doesn’t count? Ignoring your book and denying the world your art.

There you have them, your marching orders. Now go move forward today.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I read you, Kate. But for now, I’m going to drink my mocha – four shots, thank you – and write like crazy, at least one more time.

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So, Fini

I finished editing Road Lessons with Savanna, a mystery, the second in the series. Nothing jumped out to trigger anxiety and panic. I enjoyed the read, finding some typos, some grammatical errors, some minor pacing issues.

Done, and I’m pleased. I enjoyed the final page, laughing to myself here in the coffee shop, thinking of others reading it and wondering, “What?” Makes me laugh just to type that sentence.

Once upon a time, I finished writing a novel and was ecstatic that I’d completed it. But now, it’s just another novel done, the end of an enjoyable project. Of course, as I read it, the next novel in the series continued its organic growth in me. But I want to publish this one and go on to Everything Not Known, the science fiction epic. It’s been written but requires editing. Then I’ll pick up the third novel so that initial trilogy will be complete. Other novels in the Lessons with Savanna series are circling my cerebral cortex, but there are other projects that are already engaged and in progress, and I want to go on with them.

And so it goes, a fun, satisfying moment in my life, good-bye and hello.

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I Don’t Wanna

I don’t want to edit my novel.

Not because I don’t love my novel.

My novel is like a brightly shining star.

That can be taken many ways. If it’s a star, its light must travel great distances. That takes a long time. If the novel’s words are the light, its light will not reach people for a while. So what’s another day or two?

If the novel is a star, it’s unique and alike, like snowflakes, beers, cats and people — and novels. It’s remote and unattainable, but inspiring and bright, a thing of beauty and mystery, something to be parsed, studied, watched. Something for wonder.

I don’t want to edit my novel.

And my brain is very happy with that. Come, let us write other stories, my brain says. It’s a beautiful day to start a new story, or to continue one you set aside. Remember that novel about the bookmarker? You want to write it, don’t you, I know you do.

Yes, I want to tear into that novel like it’s a fresh, warm piece of blueberry pie with a scoop of ice cream.

But I am strong, and I resist!

What about that other novel, the one about the woman and equations? You really want to write that novel, don’t you?

Yes, I want to write that novel like it’s a mug of cold ale on a molten lava day.

But I am strong, and I resist!

What about that other novel you’ve been thinking about, you know, the one about the weapon system that impairs people’s memories so people end up with other people’s incomplete memories, and try to live others’ lives? If you don’t want to do that one, you can work on the next novel in the Lessons with Savanna series, Personal Lessons with Savanna. You were writing a chapter in your head this morning while you were weed whacking. There is also the novel about when time fractured —

Enough, brain, enough. I am strong, and I resist! I will edit.

I will edit, I will edit, I will edit.

Oh, but to sample a new novel, to dip myself into those places and characters and let their chi flow through me.

I will edit, I will edit, I will edit.

I will edit.

Really, I will edit.

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