DRAFTING

I’m in the mode. My desktop (okay, kitchen table) is stacked high with computer, binder of plot notes, reference books, sheafs of paper, pens, cups of cold coffee.  I’ll likely wear my housecoat till late afternoon, only dressing in order to walk on my elliptical while watching Dr. Phil. My suppers for hubby currently consist of holiday leftovers and I’m sort of relieved when he says he’ll eat out. I’m a bit of a mess and I don’t see it getting much better before spring–if “better” means I come back into the real world for most of the day.

I love writing! This is only my second novel, but I learned a lot while drafting my first. I learned that it takes much longer to get a book into readable form than I plan, and that pulsing purple passages will likely die of deletion, and that the storyline needs to keep moving along. I learned that I have about fifteen minutes of intense creativity upon first waking in the mornings, when “ah-has” come clear to me. I learned that if I hold onto a thought too long without scratching it down on paper, I lose it, but that if I make too many temporary notes, they hold me captive and freeze me up when I’m trying to maintain the flow.

I’m writing such a scene right now; I have something particular I’m trying to say (my viewpoint character in this segment is a dead “historical” character with a very specific message to pass along), but I’m struggling to condense the thought while keeping the pace and feel of the story.

At the end of the day, I don’t even know if this novel will sell. In fact, at this point I’m only trying to get a readable first draft to entice the agent I have been eyeing up for eighteen months. I’m impatient with myself; though I love to draft, I want to be able to write more more a day than actually happens. I’m torn between pushing myself anxiously to finish and ambling along with the joy of immersing myself in the fiction. That is, I’m not sure the pragmatism of expediency is worth losing the vibe.

And my friends are forgetting about me: out of sight, out of mind. I’m holed up in my cozy kitchen and so glad to be here! But my inner focus shuts down my extroversion when I’m drafting. I’m glad for the excuse of Canadian winter, when sensible people don’t quickly rush off to town on country roads but condone their antisocial behaviour by blaming it on the weather. It makes drafting forgivable.