For the past many months, I've felt like I'm on an algae-smelling river, in a boat without a paddle. It's a wooden boat, not of Elvish make, but one with no beauty nor grace.
I've made it out of the boat but ended up in a fly-infested bog, slogging forward. The best part of the bog, if there can be such a thing, is that my brain is clear, frightened, but clear.
Writing is so personal, no matter what my subject matter. It's like going into a deep, water-floored mine. I know there's something down there, but I'm afraid of what it could be.
Tonight, D came over and we had an awesome time with her Cornelius story. I can see her characters and know what they're thinking and what's happening to them without any thought. She reads me a line, usually funny, and I am off, eyes closed, imagining the scene before me and voila - somehow - I see more. I see the little things that make humans special and fun and I tell her and she sits there, mouth agape. It is such an unusual thing, being a teacher/editor. I know now what spurred on my love of reading as a child. I could see it all before me and imagine, before I read the next part, what might happen. I loved those moments when I was right.
As we sat there, I pondered upon my own writing - now that I can look at it subjectively. I wondered why I couldn't edit/revise my own writings the way I could with D and my other student/friend.
I pulled out 'Blue' and D and I went over it - the first two paragraphs - and I was able to see what I thought might be good changes to make the character more vibrant and the scene more understandable. In the midst of it all, I realized I needed to move a scene up. It's an action scene and it's much farther down in chapter one. Moving it up will answer questions sooner. I used to think it was better to keep my readers guessing, but I think there's only so much a reader wants to guess :)
D is happy and I'm excited - after all this soul searching. I know how to read/review/revise this book, at least for the moment. Tomorrow morning, though it's technically already tomorrow, I'm taking the pages we scribbled over and write them out. Then onto the next paragraph. It's going to be tedious, the thought of which has disabled me these last few months, but I feel hope again.
Life is hope. Blessings, my friends.