By November 30th and the end of NaNoWriMo, some of us will have produced 50,000 words in a month with only 30 days and a major holiday thrown in for good measure. If you’re one of those delirious, exhausted writers reaching your goal, be proud! I won’t take any of that joy away from you.
Once you have all those words—what’s next?
No novel is perfect, and yours is no exception. The trick is to make it the best novel you can. First, finish it. And then put it through the wringer of revision as many times as necessary to make it shine.
It occurs to me that facing up to a major rewrite can be similar to experiencing Kubler-Ross’s “five stages of grief.” Let me explain.
First, there’s denial: There’s nothing wrong with this manuscript. It’s certainly not bad. Maybe it’ll squeak by if I’m lucky enough to have someone read it. Like an agent.
Then there’s anger: How dare my readers suggest that the novel needs more work! I poured my heart and brain, my sweat and tears into it. I’ve developed carpal tunnel syndrome. I’ve gotten stronger glasses. I’ve sacrificed months or years of my life. It’s done, and nobody can tell me otherwise.
Next, bargaining: Well . . . maybe if I move this one scene about the preacher, then the problem with the flashback within the flashback will go away. That’s good enough, right?
Ah, depression: I can’t do this. I’ll never write another word. Why did I ever think I could write a book? I can’t put a decent sentence together. I can’t even spell. I don’t know a cliche from a bon mot. I’ll delete the files. Destroy the backup CDs. Go to bed with a bottle of wine and a good book. Somebody else’s book, of course.
And finally—acceptance: I will press on. My bruised writer's ego will never be the same, but the work has to be done.
I'll add a stage of my own, one I’ve experienced time and time again—call it determination, or persistence. I will tackle the problem, and over time, I’ll solve it. I’ll have a eureka in the middle of the night. I’ll dream the answer. I’ll write it as many times as it takes until I get it right. I’ll do it because it’s necessary. It’s what a writer does.
Obviously, dealing with a tough rewrite is nothing like real grief. But at the moment when we face the monumental task of revision, when all seems lost and the book seems impossible to save, haven’t we felt something like these emotions? Still, we get on with it somehow, just as those who grieve find a way to get on with life.
From helplessness to empowerment: yes.
Leave a Reply