If you’ve been reading this blog, you’ll know I’ve struggled with all sorts of issues: the infamous writer’s block, motivation, humor (and if you haven’t been reading this blog, go back and read them all, there are only five others, it’ll take you 15 minutes to get caught up). In an effort to improve my writing and writing process, I started researching writing wisdom doled out by my favorite authors (have I mentioned I like to procrastinate by web surfing, cause I do). Almost unanimously they said your first draft will suck, and – most importantly – it should. Just get your book out of your head. It’s in the second, third, fourth, twentieth draft where it evolves into prose worth sharing (or at least less embarrassing). It is in revision where the magic happens.
So, dear readers, I’ve taken the advice of such authors as Nicholas Sparks, Stephen King, Maureen Johnson, and John Green (what, you haven’t heard of Maureen Johnson and John Green? Well go read them – they are brilliantly fun – and they’re both on Twitter – follow them if you enjoy such things). I have mind barfed almost ten pages in one week, quite a lot considering how little time I actually have to write (I can only write about 2 hours a day, Monday through Friday – it’s not easy getting a rhythm rolling when your children don’t like to be ignored).
And guess what? The mind barf is awful: truly and hideously banal. You don’t believe me, well here are a few samples. FYI – Lou is short for Luella, the chef and restaurant owner. Al is the restaurant critic.
Lou led Al confidently through the dense crowd, past the turnstiles, up to the second level and to their seats. Once settled, Al looked around. Miller Park was not what he expected. With the roof open, sun flooded the field and stands. They sat in the front row of their level, so no one detracted from his view. Everything was in Technicolor.
“I like her,” Al said, “but she isn’t quite ready, she can’t be ready. Can she?” Al propped his elbows on the smooth, dark wood of The Harp’s bar and dropped his forehead into his hands, grasping at the hair like he was trying to grasp his own emotions. For the first time since coming to Milwaukee, he was out socially, sort of. He just needed to talk to a friend and John was the closest he had.
She carried her soft, brown cardigan. Being used to the heat in the kitchen, she enjoyed feeling with air cool her skin – giving rise to goose pimples, even though the night wasn’t quite chilly enough for that yet. She didn’t want to think about the real reason her skin was hyper sensitive to every waft of air in the small distance between her and Al.
Posting these small snippets, completely unedited (except for misspellings – a girl has to have some standards) pains me; my stomach physically roils imagining you reading it. I can see ten things right now I want to fix; inconsistencies, clunky metaphors, boring language, poor word choices.
While I’m enjoying this first round of creation and thrilled when my characters do something I didn’t expect (characters do that – did you know?), I’m eager to finish draft one and move on to revising. I’ve always liked revision; even though I know the bulk of work is still to come, it feels like the project is half done.
So, dear reader, don’t give up on me after reading the above excerpts. I trust my mentors’ advice (unbeknownst to them) that the magic will happen. My story will rise from mediocrity to something much better; like a phoenix rising from the dull, gray ashes (sorry, I couldn’t help myself).
April 5 Page Total = 98
