Monday, December 7, 2009
Can't bring myself to start rereading
Today I made some progress, finally, on necessary revisions. I made a to do list (I know, Dave, stop laughing). I labeled folders ready to receive relevant information. I put them in a briefcase with one copy of the first draft, blank paper, highlighters, and pens. When I can manage to locate them, I'll add scissors, tape, and a stapler. In the research-y folders I started to ask myself questions I need answered, one per page. I opened a master document in Word and a new section in OneNote on my tablet pc and put it in the briefcase too. Well, actually, I did not do this yet, but I will, real soon. Then I will have to add these files to my virtual briefcase so I can synch them to my more powerful laptop. I copied forms from how-to-write books to fill out for each character, in addition to similar goodies which will help me keep details straight. These are in the proper folders. I thought about the fact that I have to construct a timeline with major dates of each character's backstory as well as a detailed timeline for the story itself. I am anxious to get the original outline off my whiteboard and starting over with revisions under the new, improved, post-Draft One plan. Finally, I lifted the first page of the manuscript off the pile, read it, threw my hands up in despair, took a Valium and a nap. After that I decided to become a knitwear designer. So far, so good.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Friday after NaNoWriMo
Having at long last charged across the finish line of National Novel Writing Month with an awful lot of words and a very incomplete book, I have not touched or thought about the thing all week. I am finally this morning getting around to printing it out for the first time: triple-spaced and ready for editing, it runs close to 400 pages. Just printing it is taking the better part of my day: my printer only holds about 50 sheets of paper at a time, and I am printing two copies. One copy will serve as a reference and memorial to the month. The other is ready for the red pen and scissors. And now I am finally ready to think about getting back to it.
To my dear sponsors, I finished with 1700 words or more 26 or 27 of the 30 days (I think--I counted a few days ago, and I am not going to do that again) and 500 words or more 27 or 28 of the 30 days. And just to brag, in case you missed it, I put in 10,100 words on the last day, I don't know, for the fun of it? It was only 9 pm when I finished . . . I suppose I could have kept going.
The draft is a disaster. I wrote all over the place; it is completely out of order, and I made no attempt to correct typos, which -- ah, there's the cover sheet of copy one -- are legion. I have a lot of research to do on topics ranging from quantum physics to what Homeland Security would do if a house disappeared to my favorite Edith Piaf song.
During these days of recuperation I have accomplished the following things: I guess because of my new medication, get virtually no sleep; knit a cozy for my tea mug; have appointments with my nurse, primary care doctor, gynecologist, psychotherapist; had a mammogram; and tomorrow I see the neurologist again. Next week I see the surgeon for a check-up on my port and meet with a new in-network doctor who hopefully will work with me and Dr. Speight. What this all means, I don't know yet but will post to CaringBridge if anything interesting occurs. We are hoping for the neurologist to have some insight into my insomnia. I have read over my neglected to-do list and thrown my hands up in despair, eaten almost all the Thanksgiving leftovers by myself, and learned to strum G-C-G-D on the guitar, at which I am hopelessly incompetent. I am now trying to learn the words to "Brown-Eyed Girl." However, just as I have practiced enough to come close to hitting the chords properly, I find that singing and playing simultaneously is a complete impossibility, that Van Morrisson appears thoroughly stoned and mumbly in all but the more recent films available on YouTube (and listening to an old man sing "Brown-Eyed Girl" has its own discontents), that he sings the song way too fast, and as the classic Tom Lehrer ditty, "The Folk Song Army," points out, feels perfectly entitled to add or subtract syllables from a line at random (and they still don't make sense.) At least when removing one can go yeah, yeah, yeah and sound very groovy. Cramming in extra syllables I find more challenging. Such are my ventures away from classical music into the supposedly easy stuff.
Time to reload (the printer, that is) and look again at the to-do list to see what I can put off until next week. What will it be, registering my car, practicing G-C-G-D, calling the painter, the handyman, the landscaper, tech support for my funky computer, or, just maybe, the whole shebang? I feel a sudden knit coming on, possibly even a full-blown nap. After lunch, of course. I wonder if the turkey is gone yet.
To my dear sponsors, I finished with 1700 words or more 26 or 27 of the 30 days (I think--I counted a few days ago, and I am not going to do that again) and 500 words or more 27 or 28 of the 30 days. And just to brag, in case you missed it, I put in 10,100 words on the last day, I don't know, for the fun of it? It was only 9 pm when I finished . . . I suppose I could have kept going.
The draft is a disaster. I wrote all over the place; it is completely out of order, and I made no attempt to correct typos, which -- ah, there's the cover sheet of copy one -- are legion. I have a lot of research to do on topics ranging from quantum physics to what Homeland Security would do if a house disappeared to my favorite Edith Piaf song.
During these days of recuperation I have accomplished the following things: I guess because of my new medication, get virtually no sleep; knit a cozy for my tea mug; have appointments with my nurse, primary care doctor, gynecologist, psychotherapist; had a mammogram; and tomorrow I see the neurologist again. Next week I see the surgeon for a check-up on my port and meet with a new in-network doctor who hopefully will work with me and Dr. Speight. What this all means, I don't know yet but will post to CaringBridge if anything interesting occurs. We are hoping for the neurologist to have some insight into my insomnia. I have read over my neglected to-do list and thrown my hands up in despair, eaten almost all the Thanksgiving leftovers by myself, and learned to strum G-C-G-D on the guitar, at which I am hopelessly incompetent. I am now trying to learn the words to "Brown-Eyed Girl." However, just as I have practiced enough to come close to hitting the chords properly, I find that singing and playing simultaneously is a complete impossibility, that Van Morrisson appears thoroughly stoned and mumbly in all but the more recent films available on YouTube (and listening to an old man sing "Brown-Eyed Girl" has its own discontents), that he sings the song way too fast, and as the classic Tom Lehrer ditty, "The Folk Song Army," points out, feels perfectly entitled to add or subtract syllables from a line at random (and they still don't make sense.) At least when removing one can go yeah, yeah, yeah and sound very groovy. Cramming in extra syllables I find more challenging. Such are my ventures away from classical music into the supposedly easy stuff.
Time to reload (the printer, that is) and look again at the to-do list to see what I can put off until next week. What will it be, registering my car, practicing G-C-G-D, calling the painter, the handyman, the landscaper, tech support for my funky computer, or, just maybe, the whole shebang? I feel a sudden knit coming on, possibly even a full-blown nap. After lunch, of course. I wonder if the turkey is gone yet.
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