I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.
Yeah…and the man was just working on a POEM. Imagine applying that much obsession to nearly 90,000 words in a novel.
I do not use the word “hate” lightly, but right now I hate those organized, plotting, planning bastards who can create a detailed novel outline, write out a story from beginning to end following the original plan, then polish up what they’ve written with simple grammar and punctuation corrections before sending off the final draft for review. Argh. I HATE them.
For me, writing fiction is easy. Creating tension in a scene is easy. Creating snarky dialogue is easy. Racking up raw word counts in the thousands is easy. Polishing up what I’ve written is not exactly difficult…unless I’m trying to make deep changes. Then it gets a bit difficult. Like performing brain surgery while playing the violin and tap dancing. Like swimming across the English Channel with a tea cup balanced on my head. Like juggling flaming bowling balls while skiing.
Ugh. But all this pain is going to be worth it. I swear!