Fresh cookies
When I started editing my first novel, I progressed like a hippo in quicksand. Editing lacked the freedom and joy of writing, and though both require discipline, editing, unlike writing, unleashed the mean-spirited critic inside me. One day I would hate every word; the next, I would cling to everything I'd written in awkward self-defense.
Since I was getting nowhere, I put the manuscript aside and began a new project. In the meantime, my husband read the manuscript and added his comments to mine and those of my writing buddy, Holly. After a few months, I returned to the novel and was able to consider my work critcally without all the emotional ruckus. Like cookies fresh from the oven, my manuscripts need a cooling off period. Otherwise, I get burned and they fall apart in my hands.
I've edited that first novel through three drafts. I've taken the whole thing apart, separated it into "scenes" and "summaries", and pieced it back together. Now I'm letting it rest before one final pass.
Have I learned to like editing? Maybe, a little, now that the critic is under control.
Since I was getting nowhere, I put the manuscript aside and began a new project. In the meantime, my husband read the manuscript and added his comments to mine and those of my writing buddy, Holly. After a few months, I returned to the novel and was able to consider my work critcally without all the emotional ruckus. Like cookies fresh from the oven, my manuscripts need a cooling off period. Otherwise, I get burned and they fall apart in my hands.
No comments:
Post a Comment