There was a time (about two whole months ago), when I was naive enough to think that once I had a rough draft finished, the rest would be a breeze.
Stop laughing. It’s not nice to laugh at people who are idiots by accident.
So it turns out that revision? Is a JERKY PAIN IN MY BACKSIDE! Going back over the words I’d slaved over for months and months, I read them now and say to myself, “Pshaw, self, you are such an amateur! Who wrote this? A second-grader? On allergy medication?”
Then I get it in my mind that everything I’ve written is crap, and that I should just shred my manuscript and recycle it as hen-house bedding. (y’know… so it can get pooped on? by lots of fat birds?)
But *sigh* instead I try to push my way through it (partially because we don’t actually own any hens). I write different scenes from different character perspectives just to get it all nice and fleshed out, hoping that one day this dumb manuscript will be able to pass for something readable.
Also, I doodle a lot, y’know, when I can’t think of words to write.
Unfortunately, I don’t really know how to draw anything but the swirly-things. So my notebook is full of them. And when revision becomes too much and I desperately need a break, I go outside… where I promptly draw swirly-things on my driveway with sidewalk chalk.
On a totally unrelated note, I caught someone in our garage trying to steal my car. And though he had the keys, was in the front seat, and knew how to honk the horn… well, he couldn’t seem to figure out how to actually steal the thing.
I went out to get a closer look at the punk.
He was so cute that I couldn’t press charges. I agreed to let him off with a warning if he’d come live with me forever and let me smooch his little cheeks whenever I darn well pleased.
It was an agreeable agreement.
And now, back to drawing swirlies… err, I mean, revising.