Been gone a while. I have a good reason. I have been deep into a state of revision. In this case: re-vision. A new vision.
I’ve been alone long enough in this big house. Instead of a comfort, it has become a constant stress. Too much to worry about. Too much stuff. I start by eliminating ten things here, ten things there.
I’ve been away from my finished manuscript for several months. There was another book to write on deadline, so I easily put my work-in-progress aside to focus on new research.
Ten things a day seemed like a manageable goal. Doesn’t really make a dent. And it’s going to snow. Will last year’s plow guy still be doing my driveway? He hasn’t replied to my texts.
It feels good to have a deadline. As much as I enjoy working on my own projects, I love working on specific assignments, gathering details, writing facts in child-friendly vocabulary.
Another appliance has died. And the furnace guys are here for the third time since Christmas. Why can’t they figure out what’s wrong? I don’t know who to call next.
I love the story I’ve been hired to tell. My protagonist is a strong woman, unbowed by restrictions of age, or other people’s doubts. Maybe it’s not a coincidence that this book was sent to me at this time.
The decision had been made. It was time to put thoughts into action. Downsize, downsize, downsize. Sell stuff. Donate stuff. Throw stuff. Hire the movers.
Writing this book is, in a way, a respite from the constant barrage of decisions that need to be made. At my computer, it’s quiet, there are rules to follow. The decisions are easy ones: this word or that?
I know where I’m going and have an idea of how much space I will have. Fifteen rooms down to four. Delete, delete, delete. Cut, cut, cut. Revise, revise, revise.
The facts are collected. The first draft is complete. It’s too long, though, so I know what has to be done: delete, delete, delete. Cut, cut, cut. Revise, revise, revise.
New space. Old stuff. How will everything I brought fit into this smaller space? I brought a little too much but that’s okay. I can cull. My new home slowly becomes familiar.
The manuscript is gone. I pull out my old WIP. I have fresh eyes now. I see what needs to be done. There are too many words, but that’s okay. I can cull. My manuscript slowly becomes tighter. My familiar story has become new.
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