Just before Christmas last year, I gave my writing group the full manuscript of my novel, Until Proven. They gave it back to me with lots of work to be done, as I expected, and since February I've been rewriting, revising, reimagining. I like the reimagining part best because it is most like first draft work--my favorite.
I have a writer friend who like to rewrite. That's a slog for me. I do wish she could bottle and sell whatever it is that makes her say, oh goody--I need to cut 10 words her and 20 there. And can I come up with a more active verb?
I've now finished my re-re-re work and the same fine writers/readers/editors will get new improved mannie this coming Saturday. Three hundred forty seven pages x eight. That's how many sheets of paper are now in a box in my car. I feel a little giddy thinking about that. Yes, I'm weary of it and will be glad to let it nag someone else for a while while I refresh my spirits over the holidays. But I'm also proud and confident that I've told a good story and told it well.
Is it done? No, of course not, but it's close, and suddenly I feel that I've accomplished a lot in 2011. Now I'm going to work at learning all there is to learn about marketing a book-in-print and explore more deeply the big question: to self-publish or not to self-publish.
Whoohoo, and give thanks!