So I was thinking I should probably write about writing. I like to call myself a writer--I figure the more often I call myself that, the better the chances are that I'll actually believe it--and I started this blog with the intention of it helping my writing in a nebulous sort of way.
If I whine about it, it (the writing) will come.
That seemed valid.
So my work in progress, or WIP (or WHIP--as in it's thrashing my behind) was a bare bones rough draft--choppy and lacking in exposition, but the creeky skeleton of it was down on paper...until the fatal flaw was pointed out to me--twice, damnit. I bravely dissagreed, because, really, what do published authors know anyway?
Oh.
I read my rough draft again, and again, and again. Cue arrow shot--straight to my writerly heart.
I. Had. To. Start. Over.
Over. And not just, oh well I'll write a new fresh story, no. I love these people, and I had no idea what "You have to kill your darlings," could encompass. A turn of phrase here. A whole loverly scene there. M-o-t-i-v-a-t-i-o-n...killed--changed.
And then, to twist the knife, as I'm re-writing my darling, I realise there are things that need to be changed again {{{again}}} because I've decided something worked better here. And my whole being wants to go back to the beginning (because, it's a very good place to start--or so I've been told) and change the things that need changing so my story will make sense right now.
But I don't. Because I know--know--more things will change and then I'd have to change the first part that leads to the second part and the party of the--you know what I mean. So, I stop myself from going back and just move forward.
And I realised, tonight, that that is a cool analogy for life.
You can't go back and change the first part, just so this part makes better sense--you can only move forward. And make this part--this right now part--the best part it can be.
If I whine about it, it (the writing) will come.
That seemed valid.
So my work in progress, or WIP (or WHIP--as in it's thrashing my behind) was a bare bones rough draft--choppy and lacking in exposition, but the creeky skeleton of it was down on paper...until the fatal flaw was pointed out to me--twice, damnit. I bravely dissagreed, because, really, what do published authors know anyway?
Oh.
I read my rough draft again, and again, and again. Cue arrow shot--straight to my writerly heart.
I. Had. To. Start. Over.
Over. And not just, oh well I'll write a new fresh story, no. I love these people, and I had no idea what "You have to kill your darlings," could encompass. A turn of phrase here. A whole loverly scene there. M-o-t-i-v-a-t-i-o-n...killed--changed.
And then, to twist the knife, as I'm re-writing my darling, I realise there are things that need to be changed again {{{again}}} because I've decided something worked better here. And my whole being wants to go back to the beginning (because, it's a very good place to start--or so I've been told) and change the things that need changing so my story will make sense right now.
But I don't. Because I know--know--more things will change and then I'd have to change the first part that leads to the second part and the party of the--you know what I mean. So, I stop myself from going back and just move forward.
And I realised, tonight, that that is a cool analogy for life.
You can't go back and change the first part, just so this part makes better sense--you can only move forward. And make this part--this right now part--the best part it can be.
