Wannabe, the Comback Kid
As I prepare for another assault on my novel, the one I’m sure I intend to finish, I can’t help thinking I’m coming back to this as damaged goods. I’m battle weary, yes, but shell shocked, as well. The questions I’m asking myself as I careen toward the inevitable, stuffing the Canon XBJ-whatever with paper so I can print out the first chapter, are pointed and cruel.
Why for?
The ending should come clear to me as I revise that first chapter for the third time. Here, I’ll be searching out the details that’ll make my protagonist his own person, detached from myself, bossy, even, telling me where to go rather than waiting for a tug, or a click of the tongue, a zzzzt! This way. Let’s try this way. By the time of this revision, I should find my buzz, waking every morning all jittery and excited to reread and see where we’ve been, where we might go next. The first draft came out of other first drafts, and was extremely painful to write. Sounds like crap, but just keep going. Page count sort of meant everything. Second draft was me trying to make something out of nothing, transforming infomercial passages to Superbowl spots. Hey, if the language don’t grab me… Now, now my friends, I’m all psyched because this feels like one of those pieces you never doubt you’ll see to the end, making it as good as you can get it. It feels like a story I was always meant to finish. The months I’ve spent away… they done me good. Don’t know what set this off, btw. Why now? I’ve been shirking my duties here at the Collective of late and getting back to my Journal of a Wannabe Novelist will Shirley help, but that’s not it entirely. I think this story never left me. I’m sobbing from joy -- she stuck by me, watching from the shadows as I wrote flash after flash, as I trudged through the daily jizms of my life, lost in space but not in a good way. Mmmmn, I love you, you big-arsed, curvy and vivacious novel you. Let’s make out!
Why for?
The ending should come clear to me as I revise that first chapter for the third time. Here, I’ll be searching out the details that’ll make my protagonist his own person, detached from myself, bossy, even, telling me where to go rather than waiting for a tug, or a click of the tongue, a zzzzt! This way. Let’s try this way. By the time of this revision, I should find my buzz, waking every morning all jittery and excited to reread and see where we’ve been, where we might go next. The first draft came out of other first drafts, and was extremely painful to write. Sounds like crap, but just keep going. Page count sort of meant everything. Second draft was me trying to make something out of nothing, transforming infomercial passages to Superbowl spots. Hey, if the language don’t grab me… Now, now my friends, I’m all psyched because this feels like one of those pieces you never doubt you’ll see to the end, making it as good as you can get it. It feels like a story I was always meant to finish. The months I’ve spent away… they done me good. Don’t know what set this off, btw. Why now? I’ve been shirking my duties here at the Collective of late and getting back to my Journal of a Wannabe Novelist will Shirley help, but that’s not it entirely. I think this story never left me. I’m sobbing from joy -- she stuck by me, watching from the shadows as I wrote flash after flash, as I trudged through the daily jizms of my life, lost in space but not in a good way. Mmmmn, I love you, you big-arsed, curvy and vivacious novel you. Let’s make out!
posted by Antonios Maltezos | 5:13 am
4 Comments:
Yeah! It's great to find something you wrote a while back and not want to disown it. Here's to you having a rollicking love affair with your novel, Tony.
Thanks, Tricia!
That's interesting idea! Write the kind of novel you'd like to make out with!
Hmmmm. Thanks for this idea Tony.
>>I love you, you big-arsed, curvy and vivacious novel you. Let’s make out!
May fat bottom novels make your novel world go 'round!
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