I’m not a very good waiter. (Probably waitress, either—I’m so messy—but that’s not what we’re talking about here. Pay attention.) I never think of myself as the spoiled, instant gratification type, but…there you go. I hate waiting.
Now that I’ve started this post, I have to admit it’s not going in any interesting kind of direction, because what I can’t wait on is my own story.
My intent when I started my WIP, especially since it isn’t sold yet, was to dash through a first draft in record time, then saunter back through a second draft. You know, getting rid of people I don’t need; fixing whose and who’s and its and it’s; taking out all the foreshadowing of things that didn’t happen and adding it in for things that did. I was going to do this because it makes sense. Of course it does.
The other night, when I finished working for the day, I looked down at the word count and thought, “Hmm…” (I also thought my number for the day was pathetic, but I’m not talking about that right now. Probably later.) I have no idea why I did this, but I brought the calculator up on the computer’s desktop and discovered I was at exactly, EXACTLY (okay, within 50 words) of 60 percent finished with the story. Cool, I thought. Eighty would be better, but I’m not ashamed of 60.
The next morning, I couldn’t write a word. I typed Chapter 13 and stopped. Dead. Because there was something back there somewhere I needed to fix. And I’d had two men named Max, for heaven’s sake. And there was no way all that could have happened to one person in a single lifetime.
I have no idea why I couldn't get beyond that point before I went back to do editorial repair, but, as people say all the time on Facebook, it is what it is.
So now I’m back in Chapter 5, fixing its and it’s and getting rid of a Max and a few life experiences. I’ll never have a real first draft, because I can’t wait till I get to the end to fix what I’ve done.
Am I alone in this? Leave a comment and let me know. And please hurry—I can’t wait!