Update

In the interest of full disclosure, here’s an update of my (meager) previous postings:

— Simon and Garfunkel never made it to Edmonton.

— My daughter, even though she had her own pair, ended up with my shoes.

— I gave up on trying to rewrite that old mystery novel.  Somethings should be left in the box.

— Harlequin rejected my romance novel at the query/synopsis stage.

— I never did hear from Mr. Really Big Agent about Stone Cloud.  I guess that means no.  Too bad.  I’m pretty sure the world could really use another vampire novel.

Strangely, the only thing that upsets me is the shoes.

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back at it

Today:  12 degrees C or about 53 degrees F  Sunny

I took a day and a half off.  It was great.  But an opening line popped into my head, begging me to write it.   So I did.

Big mistake.

I am working on rewriting a mystery I wrote twenty years ago.  I loved the idea then; I was obsessed by it.  I wrote the bulk of it in ten days and it was short-listed for a provincial novel-writing competition.  But I was never happy with it, and always thought I would get back to it.  In the meantime, I put it aside and went on to other things.  But this line jumped out at me and I was hooked.

I think I have a hard copy of the old manuscript somewhere.  I don’t know whether to look for it or not.  Not that it matters.  What I’m writing now is very different from what I wrote then.  The plot is basically the same, but the details will be different, as well as the voice. I wrote 7,000 words this weekend.  Not a bad start.

That’s Lola at three months.  She is now nine months old

and desperately needs a haircut.

Revision makes the writer nuts

Now: -6C

So I figured out what pushes me through revision, after revision, after revision . . . . My eagerness to get on to the next story impatiently waiting to be told.  I notice some writers have several things going at once–a couple of novels, a few short stories.  I’m not sure how they do it.  I can’t.  One thing at a time, please.  Divide loyalties does not a healthy manuscript make.  I’m loopy enough as it is, I don’t need to push myself over the edge, thank you very much.

Revision on romance novel goes well, better than I expected, especially since I have figured out the end.  But it’s a romance, you say.  Piece of cake.  They live happily ever after.  Not so fast, I say.  There  is happily ever after–who gives a fig?  Not a good happily ever after, that one. Must do better . . .  so I revise some more until I get to HAPPILY EVER AFTER.  I’m getting there . . . .

Revising is Hell

I love writing.  Really, I do.  Revising, however, is another story.  Somedays I’d rather eat worms.  How is it that something that flowed out of my brain at the rate of a non-stop high-speed train now just sits at the platform like the little-engine-that-couldn’t?  Doesn’t it know I have things to do, queries to write, agents to email?

Please, someone explain this to me.