I had this lofty goal back at the end of 2015, that my novel would be finished, polished, and ready for the March #pitmad. I’d be under contract with an agent by summer, and my first book would be published by the end of my 35th year on this planet.
That’s cute, isn’t it?
It’s the end of June now, and I’ve only done my first round of edits for 14 of my 54 chapters. Not for lack of effort, mind you. No, I’ve been diligently sitting down at my computer each night, willing myself to just get through this scene, just this one scene. These first chapters, I’ve told myself, they’re very long. It’ll go faster after I get these first ones under my belt and get to the shorter chapters. Then I’ll re-print, and the next edit will go faster, as will all the subsequent edits.
It hasn’t gone faster.
See, this is the first time I’ve truly edited anything I’ve ever written. Generally, I vomit out 50,000 words in November and call it good.
That’s my process.
Let’s take a moment and appreciate that Tiny Shadows is my 10th (and longest, at 90,000 words) novel, and one of the few that wasn’t vomited out in 30 days.
This is the first time, ever, that I’m not proclaiming a novel finished upon completion of the first draft. I’m pretending I’m a real writer this time. And editing is the thing real writers do next, or so I’m told.
But I don’t have an editing process. I don’t like not having a process. I’m the person who has a process for her process. And a process for the process process.
Even from a high level overview, my process problem isn’t exactly a mystery: I’m not macro-editing. As noble as my intentions were, I’ve discovered I have not yet developed the discipline to overlook the schismatic slobberfest that is my first draft, put on my soldier panties, and take down the big guns first. Nope, I’m taking out the five-year-olds with squirt guns and plastic swords.
So, I need to iron my soldier panties.
Fourteen chapters into editing, I’ve thrown my hands up in the air and re-printed the first hundred pages to start all over again. And even in doing so, I’m finding myself writing cute little notes in the margins that aren’t aimed at the nuclear weapons threatening to destroy my novel.
This is exhausting.
Maybe I’ll be ready for #pitmad next March and have the goddamn thing published by the time I’m 40.
Amanda, you’ve turned a laborious process into a very amusing post! But of course, it still remains a laborious process. I don’t know how bogged down you feel but don’t forget I’d be happy to take a look and maybe come up with a few thoughts, for what they’re worth.
I’m glad you enjoyed the post, and I appreciate the offer! The first draft, however, is far from ready for any eyes but my own (and even that is questionable!). I made some progress last night; here’s hoping.
OK – progress can sure be slow at times but as as long as it’s steady, you’ll get there!