So I'm writing a book, a real honest to goodness book. I'm currently working with one of the most amazing guys in the business and have high yet reasonable hopes for its completion and perhaps eventual publication. (How's that for realistic dreaming?) Yes, if all goes as planned, I will be coming soon to a bookstore near you, arriving on a golden litter carried by the entire bare chested Manchester United soccer team while the Mormon Tabernacle Choir follows me, dressed in robes of Egyptian silk and chanting, "Buy her boooooooook! Buy her boooooooook!" Or that could have been a dream I had. Or a dream I read about. Or a blog I wrote. I don't know.
The great and glorious bloggingoddess and novelless extraordinaire, Ms. Libba Bray, has penned the struggles of a revising author so well, and I heartily encourage anyone who's everyone to check it out here: CLICK AQUI. High mental five to Christine for showing me the way. If you're too lazy to click, that's fine. I didn't read that last forward you sent me, either. Spammed!
At this point, revising is a really exciting, yet painful process. A lot of first time writers like myself often have this sense of "the characters are talking to me!" and "I don't tell the plot what to do, it just unfolds itself!" I admit, this is how it often works...at first. But when it comes to revising, you're faced with all the beautiful, witty, charming things that just "came to you" and after the sixteenth millioneth time you see them, they're just not funny or charming or witty anymore. (Like blogging!) Characters stop giving you revelations and plotlines stop appearing in front of your face. Hmm...I'm bad at explaining. Let me analogize: It's a lot like running Disneyland. Riding Space Mountain rules, but at the end of the day, someone's gotta pick up all the horse poop on Main Street. And someone's gotta fire the Tinkerbell who's not doing his job. And someone's gotta fix the People Mover. And someone's gotta get all the stranded hats at the bottom of the Matterhorn.* But then again, at the end of the aforementioned metaphorical day, no matter how stinky and mad and icky and tired you are, you're still at Disneyland and you've promised yourself that you'd get a turkey leg and a churro before you leave.
So, it's good. Being a writer, even a beginning, lowly, struggling, learning writer, is fun. Commas, as well, are fun. Now, in a blatant attempt to garner comments on my blog, here's a question for my readers: What's your favorite part of Disneyland? And how can it fit into this weird analogy I've made about Disneyland and work? And, more importantly, when are you going to Costco to get a churro? Can I come? Will you bring me back one?
*In seventh grade, my hat did fall off on the Matterhorn! I filled out a missing hat report and six weeks later, it came back to me in the mail. It was torn in half, covered with mud and almost black from the track marks all over it. It also smelled. It was beautiful. I wore it to school.