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Back to Work

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My new favorite tool

Turns out, I’m not very good at wallowing. I can only do it for so long before it starts to annoy me. Which meant it would only be a matter of time before I picked up Draft #2 to see what might be salvageable.

The first step was to figure out exactly what was there. I took the printed pages and a notebook, and I began to map out the sections. I assigned a number to each section, and in the notebook, I scribbled a brief description. Occasionally, I made a note in the manuscript itself, most often “nec?” to ask if the section was actually necessary. Turns out, there’s a fair bit of pointless rambling and redundancy in the book at the moment, but at least I know where it is.

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The Next Day

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Draft #2

Once before, I did it. This total rewriting, remaking of a story.

The story in question was the third segment of a trilogy. I knew how I wanted it to end, but somehow the ending always fell flat. I kept sending drafts to a very patient writer friend, asking if it worked because I hoped desperately that it actually did and I just wasn’t seeing it. Except she saw exactly what I saw, namely that it didn’t.

Finally, I took what I’d written and set it aside, and I began again. This time, instead of beginning with a quiet, dull scene where family members talked about their depressed family member, I went to the other extreme. I plunked him down in the middle of a bar fight, one he’d started. At once, the story was alive, with people doing instead of merely discussing.

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Rotten

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Photo credit: Anita S on Pixabay

Today, I read Draft #2. I can sum it up in one word:

Rotten

There is so much wrong with this draft that I have no idea where to start fixing it. Isolated scenes are fine (some of them, anyway), but they don’t fit together because I was writing them as the spirit moved instead of trying to compose a coherent tale. It’s discovery writing at its worst: you end up with a pile of scenes that don’t fit, and then you have to figure out what to do with them.

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Deadline Met!

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Danny and Draft #2

Delighted to announce that Draft #2 is done! Many thanks to all the kind and lovely people who continue to support and encourage me in this endeavor. I adore you all!

February 18 was my modified deadline for Draft #2. As you may recall, my original deadline was February 1. When it became clear that wasn’t feasible, I moved it. Unlike deadlines in my day job, I didn’t have to seek permission or file a motion—I just reset it. The first date was up to me, and so was the second. I simply picked what I thought was reasonable and got back to work. (Note: in case you were wondering, it’s very freeing to be able to change a deadline without getting permission from a judge. Made me feel quite powerful.)

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Missing the Deadline

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Image credit: Mohamed Hassan on Pixabay

I set a deadline for completing the second draft of my novel: I would finish Draft #2 by January 31.

As of today, February 2, I have not finished it. Nor will I be able to do so this week, or probably next week.

In all fairness, I’ve had many things to do this week, primarily work. Still, when I set the deadline, I knew I’d be working, and it seemed reasonable anyway.

As regular readers of this blog know, I’m a huge fan of things like planning, scheduling, and setting deadlines. Having a deadline is what lights a fire under me. Otherwise, I’d meander along life’s path, talking about how I’m going to do this or that “someday”—which, of course, rarely comes.

So why didn’t the deadline work for me this time?

I could point to a number of causes, but probably the main one is the simplest: I failed to plan for delays.

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Pulling Weeds

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Some people love to weed their gardens. From what I’ve read, they derive a deep satisfaction from getting their hands in the dirt and ousting the weeds that threaten their flowers and vegetables.

And then there are people like me, who will pull a few weeds if it occurs to us, but are otherwise inclined to live and let live. After all, what is a weed but volunteer plant that is simply misplaced? Besides, some volunteer plants are good. Every year, I end up with at least a couple foxgloves that I didn’t plant, the seeds dropped by some passing bird. The one time I tried to plant foxgloves, they died almost immediately, but the volunteers are hardier, their flowers lasting for days at a time.

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Ta-Da!

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Danny and Draft #1

If you’d asked earlier this week, I’d have told you it wasn’t going to happen. I was resigned to it. I figured I’d finish when I finished, and everyone would just have to be patient. In fact, I was ready to write a blog post about how it feels when you set a goal and you just don’t reach it.

Then came Saturday.

Mind you, I had plans. My house desperately needs to be vacuumed and dusted. I have stacks of papers, magazines, and documents on practically every flat surface. The clutter is embarrassing. The dust is probably unhealthy (especially for someone with asthma). So my plan for today was to vacuum, dust, and put things away. A noble plan, to be sure.

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Sh*tty First Drafts

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Photo credit: Denny Müller on Unsplash

I’ve got a problem.

Okay, not a major problem. Not compared to what some people are dealing with this week. But it’s a problem for me.

My book is all over the place.

It’s my own fault. I’m the one who started writing random pieces here and there, figuring they’d eventually fall into place. It’s always worked before. But this time, the story is resisting.

Last weekend, I had the privilege of participating in the Connecticut Book Festival. Except for the brief period when I read from State v. Claus, I spent the day sitting at my book table, chatting with anyone who came over.

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Slogging Toward Success

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Two years ago, I wrote a story entitled, “The Women in the Club.” It was about the family of a man who committed a heinous crime. The story felt a bit edgier than what I normally write, but I believed the topic was worth talking about. My writing group loved it.

I began to send it out both as a regular submission and a contest entry. Every time it was rejected, I edited again to see if I could make it just a bit tighter, sharper, clearer.

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The Joy of Deadlines

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Photo by LouAnn Clark on Pixabay

The summer is slipping away. In a mere few weeks, students will return to school for the fall semester. Here in the U.S., the arrival of Labor Day (first Monday in September) signals the unofficial end of summer and the official return to the usual hectic pace of the rest of the year.

For me, this summer has felt unusually long. Beginning as it did with my father’s death on the day after Memorial Day—coincidentally, the unofficial start to the summer—June was consumed mainly with the logistics of the memorial service, estate management, and working out a new Mom-care routine. As June slipped into July, my mind turned slowly to other matters, such as my novel-in-progress and my billable workload which, as in the past, lightened in the summer. I discovered the town pools and embarked on a semi-regular routine of swimming a few times a week. I signed up on several occasions to distribute vegetables after church, a simple task that requires nothing more rinsing off what has been harvested from the church garden and spreading the harvest on a table out by Farmington Avenue so anyone who wishes can enjoy garden-fresh produce.

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