A Writer's Resolutions

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New Year is coming and each member of our family 1) reviews and "grades" each of last year's resolutions, and 2) makes resolutions for the coming year. Last year my top resolution was to finish drafts 2 and 3 of The Next Novel in 2010, "without going crazy."

So: how did I do?

I'm still working on draft 3, and I did go a little bit crazy this summer (that is: anxious, overwhelmed, insecure), so I'll likely give myself a C+, or maybe a B-, because, after all, I worked hard.

I aim to finish the novel next year ... but in truth, that's hard to imagine, so I think I'll revise my resolution to "finish drafts 3 and 4." That's safer because there could well be 6 drafts.

Perhaps I won't even say anything about crazy, because that's just part of the process.

Writing a novel is a glacial process, and, as with glaciers, there is a lot unseen under the water.

[Image: Fire Down on The Labrador, 1980, by David Blackwood. Awesome, isn't it?]

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Construction site revision

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Years ago, I came upon a slender little book titled My Editor, by M.B. Goffstein. It's a poem of few lines, with simple, geometric illustrations, describing the process of working with an editor on revision.

I loved it so much I bought three, thinking of people I knew who might love it too. Now I only have one.

I've been thinking of it a lot, of late, going though the revision of The Next Novel, working with The Taskmaster (editor). The poem evokes the rewriting process as a construction site:

I begin to dig again, and lose myself in the excavation. 

Of course the new creation isn't quite right at first, and his editor sends him back to revise.

... my building worries me. It's stone cold, and I cry, "Why not have left it wobbly?"

There is a feeling of integrity in the early drafts that is initially lost in revising, until, with time, a new integrity emerges.

Take it apart, and suddenly see how it goes. 

This book is a treasure, and greatly heartening.



*****
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A Revision Rule-of-Thumb

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In A Writer's Time (a book I recommend), the author Kenneth Atchity describes the state called End Time, when the work at hand is approaching finish. He says:

"End Time is characterized by high energy flow and pressure to finish. ... Think of the slow-moving horse, after an exhausting day in the field, who hears the whistle and gallops at high speed for the barn. ... Lock yourself up if necessary, turn off the phone, leave home, anything to allow End Time its way once you're sure its way can lead to the end."

The Taskmaster (the editor I'm working with now) is cleverly feeding me only three or four chapters at a time to revise. Each section must be right before we move on. With each chunk, I go through all the phases of completing an entire novel, including the exhaustion of End Time.

It's a technique I recommend.

Key to The Taskmaster's technique, as well, is to ask for a slow-motion rewriting of the opening chapters: set the scene, properly introduce the characters, the themes.

In practical terms, for me, it has meant doubling the first 40 or so pages of my manuscript, and doing the same again for the opening of Part Two, where there is huge leap in time and place.

I'd venture to guess that it could be a revision rule-of-thumb: double the first 80 pages of your second draft.

Today I'm in post-End-Time euphoria, the glow that comes with the magical words, The End.

For now ....

Lost and found in revision

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This morning, braced by a good sleep, I went through my manuscript scene by scene, listing the changes I would have to make were I to change the Mortemart mansion to the left bank, where I now believe it did exist. (See my early post: here.)

And decided: I would make the move.

Making the decision is half the battle. Making the changes will be painful, but I like the security of place, the foundation of fact. Plus, there's an excellent floor plan: how delicious.

To see my findings, a map and the floor plan: click here.

Beginning, again and again

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Editor Dan, who I will now refer to as The Taskmaster, is taking me through the manuscript revision slowly. The first 40 pages became 100. Now I've only 20 pages to work on—the first chapters of Part II—but it feels like looking up at Mount Everest.

I keep thinking: non-fiction would be so much easier. Easier to describe the dead than to try to bring them back to life.

Once again, I'm somewhat at a loss where to begin, how to begin. One consolation of experience is that I know that once I do, I will feel much more at ease.

Temptation: coffee.  I must resist (I've given up caffeine); I'll console myself with breakfast popcorn, the perfect anxiety snack. 

Revision: shoving the MS back into the womb

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What does a writer do when a manuscript is with an editor? Clean closets, shop, throw stuff out, look for mouse nests, tame the desktop. In short: house attack. This is arduous work, and I'm very much looking forward to getting back to writing.

Not that there isn't writing work I should be doing: research, for one, taking notes. I've yet to organize my notes from my latest research trip to Europe, for example.

But for now, something from the book pages of the Ottawa Citizen. (A wonderful book page that hasn't expired!)

The quote, which is spot on with respect to the revision process, is from author Sloane Crosley, author of How Did You Get This Number?

"I am handing in a draft and we will see what happens. Trying to shove it back into the womb and have it come out something else is a very tricky experience as it looks familiar, but is a bit off...." 

Indeed!

Digging deep: the 3rd draft

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I imagined that I could write the 3rd draft of The Next Novel this summer, but I forgot how difficult the 3rd draft can be: it digs deep. I imagine that the 4th and 5th drafts will be on the down-hill slope, but for now, just starting on the 3rd, it's all up-hill.

It's a little confusing knowing how to proceed. Dan wants me to take my time on the first section. It's only 40 pages, but it's the most important part of the novel. Everything that happens comes out of these pages.

I need a plan. Because so much has to be re-visioned (re-imagined), I decided to retype it, rewriting as I go. I'm aiming to double the length, and then edit, cutting it back. Could I finish this section this month?

I began this morning setting out 10 pages. I had no way of knowing how many pages I might get through in a day. I hoped it would be more, but I thought 10 pages a fair estimate.

I got through 3 and 1/2: at this pace, the 479-page MS will take almost 7 months.

Beginnings are always the hardest.

Barbara Kingsolver: Turning on the lights

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I have piles of notes from my weekend at the wonderful San Miguel Writers' Conference. Very briefly, from Barbara Kingsolver's keynote address on how The Lacuna evolved:

1. She first asked: what are the big questions? 
2. She wrote pages and pages on what the novel would be about.
3. As she was doing this, scenes begin to "pop up" and characters appeared.
4. She asked: Who will tell the story? To find the voice, she did a lot of practice-writing.
5. She started, but in bits, not chronologically.
6. Then, when she could see the shape of it, she felt ready to start a proper draft. From this point on (she made it very clear), she was in control — of the story, and of the characters.
7. During all this time she was doing research.

The first draft, she said, was like "hoeing a row of corn." It hurt, like giving birth.

Revision is "where the art happens," making everything fit, "pulling the meaning up." (Again, beautiful.)

Her husband is her first reader, then trusted others.

A problem with early drafts is failing to visualize scenes. She goes through the manuscript, "turning on the lights." (I love this image as well.)

She likes to hold a balance between mystery and revelation —but tends, she confessed, to mystery.

She quoted Chagall: "Great art begins where life leaves off."

I wanted to know more about her work at the sentence level. It is, no doubt, intense. She uses a thesaurus constantly (which interested me).

Right now, I'm reading through the second draft of The Next Novel,  editing it. With each pass, I get closer to the meaning. Soon, I'll be going through the scenes, "turning on the lights."

Editing sings the blues

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For writers in the throes of revision, this is a wonderful You Tube author video.

(Thanks to the Twitter suggestion of writer Ami McKay.)

Lauren B. Davis's excellent essay on rewriting

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I'm keeping to my writing schedule, although I continue to feel a bit lost. Middles!

When I finished today, I puttered: rearranging my books, entering titles into my bibliography, putting articles in binders. Getting books up off the floor. (I've a long way to go on this.) I like order in my spaces — which helps explain why I've been a little frantic.

I'm also trying to organize the blogs I'd like to read, and so finally tackled setting up Google Reader. In doing so today, I read writer Lauren B. Davis's excellent blog post on rewriting: The death of my darlings. I highly recommend it.

I loved her Chekhov quote, his advice on description:

“very brief and relevant . . . one ought to seize upon the little particulars, grouping them in such a way that, in reading, when you shut your eyes, you get a picture.”

I'm reading Evening by Susan Minot. She writes beautifully spare descriptions.

On rewriting: did you know ... ?

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I was surprised to learn in Cleaver's Immediate Fiction that John Fowles, author of The Collector and The French Lieutenant's Woman, rewrote The Magus ten years after it had been published to great success. There are two versions of The Magus in print, apparently: an astonishing thing. The second version was a best-seller as well.

I can well understand thinking about how a story might have been written, but can't imagine going back, not after it has been published.