In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been posting about rewriting a lot lately. And not just posting. I’ve been reading about it, talking about it, thinking about it… okay, obsessing about it.
I want very badly to do an excellent job on draft the second, so I’ve been planning a lot. I’ve re-swizzled my beat sheet and used my electronic note cards to clarify the details of individual story elements I want to bring out. And then I’ve done it again. And again. This has been going on for weeks.
The other day I woke up to the fact that I wasn’t doing anything except spinning my wheels. Why? I could give you lots of explanations, but there’s just one basic reason behind all of them:
Here’s the deal: I have before me the first first draft of a novel I have ever written. It’s precious to me. It’s true I’ve written a lot in this space about writing fiction with a non-attached attitude, but I kind of forgot about that and latched onto my draft like a leech on an artery. My first draft isn’t that great, but it is finished, and I don’t want to break it. Never mind that, thanks to the wonders of personal computing, I can make a copy to revise so I don’t touch the original. If the situation had anything to do with logic, it wouldn’t be a situation.
Then, as I said, I woke up and saw that I was stuck. So, great, Now I was afraid of being stuck and afraid of editing my draft. Not a happy place, but, thanks be to St. Luke and the Muse (feel free to insert your own spirit guide here), I remembered the Charlie Horse Solution.
Which you’ve all heard of. No? Here’s the story for your edification.
When I was a teenager, after a long day of dodging saber-toothed tigers I would sometimes wake up with a Charlie horse—a cramp in my calf muscles that would bend my leg to that my calf was involuntarily lodged against the underside of my thigh. Most painful and unpleasant.
One should probably massage or soak or breathe deeply in such a pickle, but upon being awakened by intense pain at 3 a.m. I was not one for slow solutions. I would grab my calf in both hands, grit my teeth and straighten my leg. It hurt like flaming Hell’s bells, but just for a second, and afterward my leg would be all better.
I decided to take the same approach with my revision. I went right to the beat sheet, made a copy and moved a row (I use Excel) from point A to point B. It hurt! My nice little plan had a gouge in it. But the world did not come to an end. My novel did not disintegrate. I did not break out in boils. Encouraged by this absence of disaster, I moved another row, and another – still no signs of doom. Quite the opposite, in fact. I began to see how the rewrite could fit together. Before I knew it, I had discovered an approach to the novel’s beginning that I was finally happy with.
After some days of work, I had the B.S. (we should all call it that more often, don’t you think?) in good enough shape to start writing. That’s where I am now. The first time I tore out a paragraph that wasn’t working, my stomach was in a knot Alexander the Great and his sword would have had a hard time sorting out. But I yanked it and again, the sun stayed in the sky. I added new material and still the other stars stayed in their accustomed courses. Rain still fell down, not up. Ducks still went quack.
At this point, I crossed a sort of literary Rubicon and do you know what was on the other side?
And, yes, some of that non-attachment I’ve been telling you guys is so important. I was really glad to see it again. Most importantly, I found momentum on the other side, the forward energy of the story and the joy of creating it for its own sake.
So that’s the Charlie Horse solution:
- Recognize you’re afraid.
- Make a fresh copy of your beat sheet, manuscript, whatever you’re using.
- Don’t hesitate: change something, anything in the copy, to get going.
- Change stuff until you’ve got your momentum back.
- Start having fun again.
Make the Comment Fairy happy. Leave me a comment if you have some good ideas about getting past the frightened stage when you’re revising, or if you just want to commiserate.