Gads, my fourth manuscript stinks.
I’ve been reading it aloud to find mistakes and I haven’t been disappointed.
I always knew I was writer. That’s what I grasped on to all my life. No matter what was happening around me I knew I could write. It’s always defined me, and that’s why discovering my fourth ms is a mess hurts so much. It’s painful and embarrassing to have to actually hear what I’ve set down.
This is the first time I’ve done an editing pass out loud. It’s a wonderful tool. Typos scream out their presence. “Your” vs. “you’re” becomes obvious. And clunks in the pacing hurt my ears and tear at my writer soul.
I’m about one-fifth of the way through this first pass. I started earlier this week and I’m taking my time. I tell myself that it’s best to do a bit each day so that I stay fresh and alert.
But mostly I’m going slowly because my writing is so bad it hurts.
On the good side, it can be saved. It’s got potential and I’m finding the problems now, not next year after I’ve been shopping it.
I hold my life’s dream on one side while confronting the awful evidence that I’m nowhere near as good as I thought.
But there’s hope, and that’s what I’m hanging on to today. I’ve got to go back in later on and read a few more chapters. I anticipate being done this stage by the middle of next week, and then I have to go about spinning gold out of straw.
It’s not a setback. It’s part of the process and it’s a wonderful learning experience.
Pain is a character-builder, right?
All Living Things
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