That’s right. I’m doing it. I’m doing what most writers hate and what keeps most writers from becoming authors: editing!
I’m editing a short story for hopeful publication in an anthology. It’s a story I wrote a while back when I found out my grandfather had dementia. I have since cut, sliced, shaved, tweaked, and buffed out all the kinks.
Next up, I’m digging through a second draft of Ride for Life, my second novel (though the 1st is not published either). What does a second draft entail? Really, it’s all about consistency in story line, fixing major grammar issues, and making it readable. Once this is completed, this doesn’t mean it’s ready for the average eye. Oh NO! That means my critique group gets to get a hold of it.
Third draft means I fix the issues brought up by my critique buds. Also, any awesome ideas they had…well, I steal those ideas and build on them. It’s not until draft four, five, and six, that I start to mince words. That’s when the poet in me comes out. Was that pronoun/antecedent issue on purpose? Do I really want to use “sad” when I mean something more dramatic? Every word counts after awhile.
I’m also editing my first (still unpublished) novel, The Unpeople. I’m in draft 6, I think. Though I’ve sincerely lost count. Trouble is, even my wife, who hates most of my writing, likes it…or, at least doesn’t hate it. So, I can’t figure out why no agents wants it.
There’s also resumes and white papers I’ve been editing. I feel like my internal editor has had too much to eat lately. I need some serious creative writing beer. My editor needs a vacation so that my inner child can come out and create with me for a while.