An oxymoron. Who would have thought? During the writing process, the Muse can speak profusely. It is a time to be cherished. But during editing.... who speaks then? The devil? The scoundrel? The prince of darkness? I'm beginning to think this might be possible.
I started working on 'Blue' again. You know. the only thing left is to either chuck it or edit it. The beast is finished as far as the Muse is concerned. She's off flirting with other writers. Or perhaps she's flirting with other stories. I don't have time for such dilly dallying. I've got a book to edit.
Cleaning out the euphemism known as 'my office,' I discovered about four critiques from writing groups for the last couple of chapters of 'Blue.' I am pleased - and disconcerted. The critiques are good - but that means there are changes to be made. Additions to be added. Subtractions to be contracted??? And some hair-pulling.
If I change one sentence - oh dear God - there are five more attached to it somewhere in the book. Continuity be damned! Well, not quite. I sit and sweat (No, I'm a lady. I was taught by me ol' Irish granny that women perspire) over any change, for I know it is like some monstrous squid from Jules Verne's 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea.' It's tentacles get into the portholes and the bilges and up through the anchor's opening.
I will persevere, dear friends, if for no other reason than D is breathing down my back and expecting me to join her as a published author. :)
Life is complex.