Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Revising again, and it’s a good damn thing. I’d modified a story line. This resulted in two new chapters during the last go-around. OMG, they need work. Stiff and ugly, I need to spend time and thought with them before moving on. Bad enough that when I read partway through one yesterday, I shut down to regroup. LOL.
Well, it happens. They were written in a rush and worked for the moment as part of a draft, but they’re subpar for a finished manuscript.
When the Humans had finally done so much to anger the rest of the Universe’s civilizations, they were relocated. The small solar system which was now home to Humans had few planets and was part of a Forbidden Realm. Magic was cast over it to keep the Humans from leaving the solar system. Magic also kept them from communicating with others.
But worse things were done to Humanity. They were stripped of learning about their heritage. As far as they knew, they’d always existed on the third rock from the sun. Perhaps, though, the most malignant curses put on Humanity gave them a short life span and aged them quickly. Then, finally, they were kept from knowing the truth about death.
So it would be until the Forbidden Realm was breached and another race came to Earth. Unless Why could stop them.
Finished editing and revising the current novel in progress. It’s either the sixth or seventh iteration. Doesn’t matter.
My vision for it has clarified through the process of writing and then reading and changing it. One storyline was excised as meandering, dull, and convoluted. Firmer insights into relationships, terminology, and setting crystallized, leading to more slices. Explanations and clarifications were thinned. Characters and relationships found sharper evolution.
All good. I enjoy the manuscript and that means something to me. It is lengthy and meaty, and I wonder and worry about its length. But then I shrug, because nothing emerges for me to deliberately remove.
Now I’ll begin editing and revising again. This time I’m pursuing more of the novel’s voice and feel. I suspect — it’s a feeling — that this will be the last go around. And then I’ll begin pursuing publication.
A friend — another writer — asked me what titles I would compare it to. And gosh, I came up with nothing. I have some vague notions. Historic fiction, science fiction, and fantasy all combined in this speculative effort. And it has stories and characters embedded in it whose stories I’d like to pursue. Like Humans. Humans’ are in the book’s forefront and background, as they were moved to isolation in a forbidden zone long before events in this book. They are important to the novel because the primary antagonist is a Martian who loves Humans and conquers others to spread Human cultures. That’s one reason the rest of the civilizations consider her so dangerous. The other is that she’s proven difficult to kill.
There’s also the main character’s stepmother and her complicated story. I’d like to pursue exploring her and how she developed into the person she is. Then, there’s the main character’s relationship to his sister, and what happened to her in parallel to him, and where she is and if she’s still a cat.
But then, there are also so many other projects sitting in the wings, waiting for me to come back to them. And they’re all stories, concepts, ideas, which interest me.
It’s all fun, reading, writing, editing, imagining, thinking, the life of a writer.
Back into the groove again, my little chicklets. I reduced my writing time while I was in Pittsburgh visiting and helping Mom, especially so in the final week. Figured I’d gone there to visit with her, so I needed to shift priorities and reduce my writing (grimace, grimace) and pay attention to her and her life. But now I’ve returned to Ashlandia and the writing and editing scene. Up to page 508 of 590, or over 86%. Probably complete it by week’s end.
And then I’ll turn around and begin again. Number 7.
Each time has felt good, like I’ve progressed in the story telling, and improved the elements. Of course, I’m the mother, so what else would be expected of me but to have pride in my baby? I’m also terrified because what if I’m totally wrong about what I’ve written and I’m deluding mysef about it, and it’s actually a stinking pile of garbage?
I don’t know how much it really matters about its quality. I’m having fun, meeting the challenge, and pressing on.
And that’s what I set out to do.
Cheers
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.
Still at it with the manuscript in progress. Its working title remains Memories of Why.
As I began rev 6 — I think it’s rev 6 — I saw that I’d gone too meta. The beginning was too abstract. I understood things, sure; whether muses created it, or I did with my imagination, or it’d flown into my being from some other dimension or alternative reality, I was familiar with it.
But it wouldn’t work for other readers. I’m sure the great mass of others would ask, “WTF?” I didn’t want to put that on them. I needed to create a more substantive setting for them.
As I worked on the last revision, another aspect of the situation had emerged. I could weave elements of that arc into this one. I felt it would cement the story, provide a solid introduction to the main character, and create greater empathy for him.
So that’s what I did. Feeling a need to couch it all in the best words and phrases I could, there’s been a lot of stop and go. Lot of deleting to begin again and a great deal of going off page to write myself into understanding. I think, therefore I write, so I know what I think. I perceived how I sometimes overthought myself into paralysis. Made things too difficult for myself. Tried to be too clever or too precious.
Intriguing to me, when I began each time, the world would form, the characters would drop in, sounds would be ladled in, and the place and its story would be. Then I’d wipe it out and commence again. And again, all would fill in, like I was opening doors and walking into other worlds.
The aspect of the process is stunning and mesmerizing. Once I felt sure of the scene and moved on, I felt the weight of that existence as surely as I know impact of the real world that I inhabit.
So, there were detours. There usually are in any effort. But I advance. So does the manuscript. And the pleasure and satisfaction remains.
Cheers
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.
Finished. Done. Over. Completed.
Yes, I’ve completed rev five of the novel in progress. Its current working title is Memories of Why. Speculative historic fiction. Couple cups of science fiction tempered with a pint of fantasy and a few tablespoons of revisionism. 523 pages in Word. 160,000 words. Probably over three hundred large cups of coffee. Began writing it in March of last year. Started with a character — a cherub — and their imprisonment and sugar addiction. Grew from there. Humans are about as involved as Martians. Or the reverse. Azure Iarnum — AI — had a bigger role than Humans or Martians. Dragons played a small role, as did ‘spaceships’.
Next: revise again. I think I’m getting somewhere.
Michael Seidel, writer 