My Only Love Sprung From My Only Hate: All the Revision Feelings
(But first: Calgary congratulations to my cousins V and M on their lovely wedding this weekend, and a beautiful Berlin birthday to my littlest cousin. Many happy returns for all of you!)
Me? Revising right now? Hahaha, why would you think that?
No, I totally decided to make this list of feelings every writer knows and loves to hate for absolutely no reason. Just one of those things.
1. Staring at the last sentence of one scene and the first of another, knowing what has to go in between, and not for the life of you being able to put the transition in words.
You have two fantastic scenes, and for some weird reason, instead of enjoying them, people are all like, “But why did they go from eating dinner together to fighting ninjas at the zoo?” or “I don’t get how they decided to go to the beach and eat ice cream after realizing that the murderer is actually their deceased Great-Uncle Joe.” Ugh, readers, amirite?
I just wanna write the exciting stuff! I don’t want to have to explain how they travelled across the city via TTC to get from the murder scene to the chase scene.
Fine, fine, fine. I’ll “explain” the “logical connections” between “scenes” if that’s what it takes to please you plebs who for some ridiculous reason refuse to read my mind.
2. Knowing you want a character to say something incredibly witty and not being able to figure out what that thing is.
“SOMETHING FUNNY BUT NOT STUPID,” I told her.
“FUNNY REPLY.”
“NOW SERIOUS BIT WHERE I TELL ALL MY EMOTIONS.”
I can leave the draft like that, right?
3. Despairing that every word out of your pen/keyboard is complete garbage.
That sentence I just wrote is both so incredibly clunky that no real writer would ever admit to it and yet so derivative that it’s been done a million times before.
My characters are flat and terrible, my plot is boring and nonsensical, and how did I ever think I could do this job?
Maybe there are some dishes that need washing in the kitchen.
4. Having someone point out a logical flaw in the plot that is minor in emotional impact but necessitates major revisions to fix.
But… but… yeah, okay, it’s true that she couldn’t possibly have got between scene A and scene B in the implied time, and, I guess, yeah, if he did that, it means he had to be waiting behind the door for like, an hour, for his friend to arrive. But… will anybody really notice? I mean, really?
Okay, yes, I know that you noticed, but…
But would anybody else notice–
No, I’m not calling you a freak…
But if I change her entrance, I have to go back and fix all the rest of the theft plot, and change the whole way they meet…
But…
*sigh*
5. Trying to cram all your ideas into a pitch or synopsis.
It’s like trying to fit a sleeping bag into a stuff sack. Just when you’ve got one end satisfactorily smooshed in, the other pops out, daring you to exercise your writerly muscles to force it to fit. That is, if the sack itself doesn’t decide to split along its seam or jam at the closing just as you finally manage to hold down all the quilting.
5a. Being sure all the agents/editors/readers are rejecting your work because your synopsis can’t encompass the entirety of the plot and themes and you have lost all perspective on what aspects are important.
GUH I SWEAR I’M NOT RICHARD DAWKINS WRITING FICTION I JUST HAVE RELIGION AND ATHEISTS IN MY STORY
6. Losing track of a character’s voice that was intuitive before.
What. The. Frick. I knew you so well last month, when I finished the previous draft of this thing and started working on the sequel. Why are you all “Not telling you how I put words together” and “Gonna make you struggle to figure out how I’d feel in this scene” and “Hahaha never gonna get a grasp on me now!”? Is this because I spent so long working on your co-protagonist? Is that it? I’M SORRY. Please come back.
I’ll even write you a sex scene…
7. Realizing that description you worked so hard on is super-bland and boring.
“Two policemen flanked the front door.” Ha! Yes! I finally whittled down the information I had to the information the reader needs to know in order to picture what’s going on, and I put it in a way that flows without disrupting the rhythm of the paragraph! Victory!
… except it sounds like the sort of thing a textbook would say, not my narrator, even though her voice is playing can’t-touch-this (see above) with me right now. These should sound like her words, not like any old words she happens to be the one saying.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH.
*sigh*
Back to the drawing board again.
8. Working for a day and getting through only four pages.
A chapter a day? Yeah, I bet I can handle that. That puts me at fully revised draft in… just a few weeks! Sweet!
And if I save a mere hundred thousand dollars a day, I can be a double millionaire at the same time!
See you in June on my own private jet with my novel completely finished!
9. Getting to the point where grammar makes no sense and you can’t tell if a modifier is misplaced or not.
Can I end a sentence in “or not”? Does that even make sense? Does the meaning come through intuitively? I mean, I get it, but I’m the one who wrote it. What if it makes other people have to re-read? Maybe I should add italics. Maybe I shouldn’t add italics. DON’T ALL THESE WORDS LOOK LIKE I COMPLETELY MADE THEM UP?
* Yes, at some point years ago, I decided to cope with writer’s block by making a gif out of Edward Gorey’s The Unstrung Harp; or, Mr. Earbrass Writes a Novel. You’re welcome.