Picture trying to swallow a Whopper whole, no chewing permitted.
I feel for the people who came to the conference with what they thought were completed manuscripts. There were more than a few people with that pie-eyed, deer- in-the-headlights look on their faces as Lisa Cron crossed her forearms to make one of her many points or Donald Maass' eerie silences hovered over us as he studied the distance and waited for you to really absorb what he just said.
All I have is a raggedy first draft. I don't think you call it an autopsy when the patient is still alive, but that's my task at hand. There will be screaming. Tears.
To that end, I made a fresh start yesterday by relocating my workspace. The studio is still all about the textiles, stitching and visual art in a big way and mess. In one corner is the small desk and computer where I do the heinous day job. Until I have the heart to repurpose the room Jim so lovingly made perfect for me, no writing in here.
I used to haul the laptop onto my bed for anticipated long stretches of writing. Those stretches never lasted as long as they should have because it was physically uncomfortable after an hour or so no matter how many pillows I propped around me. Being bedridden is not conducive to clear thinking, much less creative writing.
While I was away, Colin kept his promise and cleared 75% of his crap from the living room. To where I don't want to know. There is now an actual couch and a coffee table and a chair. I found an old folding tray table and have the laptop perched on it now. The chair is acceptable. So last night, I got to it and immediately fell back into the trap of tweaking scenes already written. Pearl polishing. But I worked on one with an eye to the notes that I took from both DM and LC. and there was progress.
|"yeah. that's killer. use it."|
Some who know them might argue that their respective takes on the writing process are at odds. Don't care. I'm taking what I need from all like a thief in the night. I had to work at stifling my cackles while I was taking notes during the seminars.
So while I fiddled around with one scene, deep in my heart I know there are at least three (that were gnawing at my hindbrain all week) that have to be petted and calmed, walked out of the shed and have their furry throats slit while their hearts still beat. I may be able to salvage some skin or bone but there will be blood.