Well, round and round and round we go. Speaking of, I just finished another round of edits on my manuscript. This one was tough, but it felt good. I’m hoping I’m closing in on completing it.
It’s strange how it seems the very texture of a book changes as you make your way through it, pass after pass, bits catching you, pricking you, scraping the skin. Little by little, you wear them down, those sharp, pointy parts, and something that was once nothing but texture, permeable, accessible texture, turns smooth, inflexible.
A distance develops between you and it, and it becomes what it is going to be. It’s almost like magic. Painstaking, tedious magic, but magic nonetheless.
If you aren’t a person who sticks your hands into your work, rolling up your sleeves for the messy bits, I think you’re missing one of the biggest aspects of writing: true immersion in your work. You’re missing the opportunity to figure out what you’ve done wrong and how to fix it; you’re missing the chance to understand not only the broad strokes of your characters, but their nuances as well.
I think editing might be the most uncomfortable part of writing, because every time you do it, you’re not only picking apart your work, but a little bit of yourself. But it’s also the way you put it all back together.