A writer’s mind is odd; mine is messy, non linear, and works something like how this post is going to be – random.
I can’t speak for anyone else on this blog, but when I write I am in a kind of trance, a kind of dream like state. That’s how creative juices flow for me; editing isn’t going to help anyone at all at this point; just keep going until the first draft is done. Things can be molded later if they need to be.
Some, sorry – all of my best writing has been unplanned, unstructured and not put through much, if any editing, or as I sometimes call it, the analytical approach. Why? I honestly am not one hundred percent sure. Writing is subjective; so for me I guess I can feel the passion seep through the page, or through the computer screen.
You can really tell when you (or another writer) cares about a character – even if you (or the writer) kills he/she off. It just shows itself somehow in ways I can’t explain. You can change typos, but can’t change the way you feel about something, at least not as easy as you might like; it shows – and it is beyond any reason I have figured out yet how; at least in my mind anyway.
I am not the best editor in the world. I make many mistakes, one might so too many. I definitely think so. But I have learned the hard and cruel way that when it comes to editing any piece of your work, you should try to imagine it to be someone else’s. Get the nonsense that makes you think you are the exception out of your head and get that word count down where it counts, and up where it counts also.
I confess, since I said that I write like I am in dream like state, that editing has become more of an interesting process than the first draft in some ways; my subconscious seems to have a knack of putting in clues that the analytical side of me can pick up to be the paths to the more important steps of the story I STILL need to write and haven’t figured out completely – yet. It’s like picking up some homeless dog and caring for it till the end of its days; the effort you put in will be the achievement you get out; that dog will love you back if you listen to him/her; it will make you see and learn new things about not just another animal, but yourself; and most likely, it will lick your face a lot too. Writing and rewriting is the same – only it doesn’t lick your face – unfortunately.
I do know there is a lot of writers out there with far more talent than me, some are probably reading this post. I am not a creative genius, though I do rank high and have pretty much every trait on the highly creative list on several different websites; I’m not entirely sure how or why. Shrugs. I suppose it’s like beauty in some ways; even if someone was and is deemed beautiful they wouldn’t want to dwell on it because it is only one of the many aspects of life; and as most of you probably know, having one great thing does not make you a great person overall!
I do have what some of those better writers don’t have though; motivation; a willingness to see things through till they are finished in their entirety. Whatever it takes! And I do know why I see things through; because I have good strong feelings about how it helps me escape some of the aspects of reality I don’t care for; however, it is not really a selfish act for me, this motivation; the real drive for me is to hope to help people through the lies that are fiction; all fiction has truth. I know, right.
The brain works on three levels: The creative level, the practical, and the analytical level. Most people use it in this order too. And without all three nothing would exist as good as it is. A writer has to use all of these, of course. Duh.
I have started my third draft of my fantasy novel two days early because I have had no work since last Monday. Hopefully I will have some by soon. I thought it was a better time to start since I had little else to do except housework, reading, writing and art practice.
My word count on what I was writing, which is the first draft, is 17, 705. It will stay there for quite a while whilst I edit the third draft (of the fantasy novel) though. About a month and a half. Maybe two month. By the end of the year I will have another 50,000 plus word novel to go through though. I can guarantee you that!
Here is the second part of the short story (first draft) ‘From Above.’ Enjoy:
* * *
It was on the same summer’s day; the sun still bright; and it was appreciated immensely by a man called Raymond; as he is the kind of man who loves and appreciates nature in its raw and beautiful state.
Raymond was coming back from his nine to five job, like many other people, and was looking forward to a good meal, a shower, and seeing one of his dearest friends.
He passed through a street and saw a man he knew but didn’t want to know; this man walked in to a luxurious hotel in the heart of London; then he saw her.
“Chloe, there you are,” said Raymond.
“Yes, I am. Just give me another ten minutes to go through some things with my boss in the hotel and I’ll be out.”
“Okay, then,” replied Chloe’s friend; he sighed when she left and waited outside. Raymond heard her high heels run through the lobby of the hotel. “I’ll stay here,” he spoke, as if she could hear, but obviously she could not.
Raymond waited a good twenty minutes before he started to worry. He backed up, turned to the hotel, looked at the name and whispered it to himself; it was only then that he thought it was an odd name for the hotel. But he knew better than to assume things – especially about things he did not understand.
He now decided to go in and see what was happening, but as he done so Chloe was darting towards him; he heard those heels tap at the marble floor again; as he saw her she smiled back, getting nearer to the entrance and exit.
“Come on, let’s go,” said Chloe. “I’m finally done here.” It was nearly eight o’clock and she starts every day, except Sundays because she is off, at seven. Raymond didn’t know how this friend of his kept going on the way she did; she made it look too easy.
“I don’t know why you work for that guy. He is just throwing you around.” Chloe looked at Raymond before they started to make a move from the hotel.
“I feel sorry for the man – I believe I can help him,” said Chloe.
“Why would you even want to? And how can you feel sorry for such a man?” said Raymond. “He doesn’t feel the same about you.”
“It’s because nobody else is going to Raymond. We all get lost at times. He is no different, although he does like to act like it.”
“You still surprise me Chloe, you really do. I think sometimes your heart is too big, and is going to end up being wasted on people like that man you work for.”
“No heart can love or care too much; it is only those who deny the care that I give them that wastes my time; love, appreciation – it is a rare thing in our world the way it is expected and needed; and there is always someone else who can use it if there is someone who is denying what I give.”
“You mean like Andrew?” They carried on walking.
“You would think so, but today I saw something in him that gave me a glimmer of hope.”
“Why do you even care? I don’t understand.” Chloe stopped walking and tugged Raymond to look at her; he paid close attention to what she was about to do, say.
“Because it starts with ignoring something we can do something about; it may be because of fear – it doesn’t matter; it we all took the attitude you are expecting of me; to not care because of the kind of person he is – then there is no hope for any of us.” Chloe said the last part with such compassion that she yelled it, attracting looks from those walking through the street they were on. She tightened her coat that had a belt around and continued walking.
Raymond was silent for a few minutes; you could see he was thinking on what he was just told.
“Do you really think you can help him?” asked Raymond with an unsure tone.
“I do,” said Chloe.
“Well that’s good enough for me. How can I help then?” Chloe turned to him after two people passed, causing her to squeeze between them; Raymond had to do the same because the street path was so narrow; after that, she grinned at her friend – like she already had a plan in mind.