Labor Daze
Seven days a week, I work. Monday through Friday, I have a fairly regular Monday through Friday gig. Either after or before work (often both), I do the part-time thing—a corporate QA/editing sort of situation. I have the luxury of doing that job from home. By “luxury of doing that job from home,” I mean, “opportunity to become distracted by masturbation.” And by “masturbation,” I mean, “either jerking off or working on my novel.” On weekends, I do the remote editing for five hours each day. This means that long weekends are a real treat around here. I actually don’t have to do either job. I can work on my WIP until I throw up, if I so choose. (Hint: I will.)
The combination of having a blast and working my white ass off as I get these words down is unlike anything else I’ve experienced. I am positively gleeful to know that while everyone else is barbecuing tomorrow, I will be listening to my writing playlist and hashing this beast out. Yes, I’ve written poems, short fiction, and a novel before. You will never, ever see that book, by the way. I destroyed it in an elaborate ceremony in the woods. There were candles. There was gasoline. Chanting was involved. And it all took place in a circle of salt.
This novel is different. I cannot tell you why. Perhaps I’m just in a new sort of headspace. (That’s not really a perhaps. I most definitely am, I’m just not sure it accounts for the way I’m feeling about the project.) It might be because the story and/or the way I’m telling it is better. But that’s the thing, right? Is it better? Am I doing a good job with it? Once the draft is complete, will I be able to shape it into something a few people might enjoy? Or, will it all end in a witchy conflagration?
Characters seduce us (see last week’s post, “Murder,” for more on that). A plot twist electrifies us. Our clever turns of phrase dazzle us. But let’s face it, we’ve all been seduced and electrified and dazzled only to ask ourselves later what the fuck we were thinking.
The key is to remember, at 11:30pm the night before, our friend had already asked us, “What the fuck are you thinking?” We are too close to ourselves and our appetites sometimes to make the best choice. Just as we, as writers, get too close to our work. We lose objectivity. I know this is why we have editors and beta readers, trusted friends and Twitter heroes.
I just hope I can hold onto enough of an unbiased mind to decide, when the time is write, whether my book is good enough to bother showing to these resources. I do not want to waste anyone’s time and I don’t want to embarrass myself more than is absolutely unavoidable. Yeah, it’s pride, and in excess, it’s a sin. But have you met a person without any? Have you then taken them home with you, over the stern objections of your friend? Because I sure have.
PHOTO: Guy (I feel like he’s hot behind all those shingles) laboring, with thanks to Jonas Orgrefoln at Pixabay.
PROGRESS REPORT: 65,455 words in this growing bad boy. Oh, the slicing and dicing ahead of me! Big decision ahead for my poor protagonist.