Red ink is not always your enemy
I need... A red pen.
Yesterday I was looking through what I had written of BFB. A combination of handwritten pages (and plenty of them) and some printed pages (back when I didn't have MS Office so I downloaded Abiword, which is not at all the same thing) and bitty pieces of paper saying "hey, what if I did this?"
Genties and ladlemen, this book is the literary equivalent of a thousand-piece puzzle. With pieces missing. Before I can start the rewrite, I'm going to need to wade through the pieces, pick out the 'edge pieces', put those together, and then start filling it in. (Wow, a decent analogy for once!)
And in order to do that well (or in a way I'll be happy with), I need a red pen. And maybe a small pad of paper to scribble "whoop, repeated myself here" and "OOC within two chapters, WTF".
I need to dust off the old editing marks I learned waaay back in high school (before word processors ruled the earth) and get to work. From what I read, it's a great story, but even as far back as 10 years ago I still didn't quite have the maturity and conciseness this book needs. I think I was afraid to tell the whole story, really. I put my main character through the wringer twice before the book even starts, but you have to read between the lines to see this right now.
So. Both Andy and I need socks, I'm almost out of contact solution, and we need coffee filters. While I'm out and about, I'll get a red pen. And guess what I'll be doing tomorrow, while I'm getting Ruby's oil changed? May get some looks, but I don't care - writers are supposed to be odd and vaguely antisocial in public anyway (if you believe the stereotypes).
Yesterday I was looking through what I had written of BFB. A combination of handwritten pages (and plenty of them) and some printed pages (back when I didn't have MS Office so I downloaded Abiword, which is not at all the same thing) and bitty pieces of paper saying "hey, what if I did this?"
Genties and ladlemen, this book is the literary equivalent of a thousand-piece puzzle. With pieces missing. Before I can start the rewrite, I'm going to need to wade through the pieces, pick out the 'edge pieces', put those together, and then start filling it in. (Wow, a decent analogy for once!)
And in order to do that well (or in a way I'll be happy with), I need a red pen. And maybe a small pad of paper to scribble "whoop, repeated myself here" and "OOC within two chapters, WTF".
I need to dust off the old editing marks I learned waaay back in high school (before word processors ruled the earth) and get to work. From what I read, it's a great story, but even as far back as 10 years ago I still didn't quite have the maturity and conciseness this book needs. I think I was afraid to tell the whole story, really. I put my main character through the wringer twice before the book even starts, but you have to read between the lines to see this right now.
So. Both Andy and I need socks, I'm almost out of contact solution, and we need coffee filters. While I'm out and about, I'll get a red pen. And guess what I'll be doing tomorrow, while I'm getting Ruby's oil changed? May get some looks, but I don't care - writers are supposed to be odd and vaguely antisocial in public anyway (if you believe the stereotypes).