Saucerland - Selection II

I added a second excerpt from Saucerland to that page today. I'll be adding more over the next couple of weeks. Stay tuned!

Saucerland

Over the next few weeks I will post selections from my current project "The Far Shores of Saucerland." It is my first (though I suspect not my last) attempt at long form, narrative poetry. That's a clunky description but it's the best I've got. It's not epic poetry because that, if I remember my college classes accurately, refers to a specific rhyming form. I was definitely inspired by The Iliad, The Aeneid and a handful of other long form, narrative poems that I've read over the years. If you haven't read Toby Barlow's "Sharp Teeth" do yourself a favor and go and do that now.

I've done a few editing passes on Saucerland and have it out to a couple of beta readers now. I aim to publish it in a month or so. Click on the Saucerland link under Pages to the right to read the selections.

And so it continues....

Writing, re-writing, re-doing, re-setting, re-booting. This is what i've been doing for the past several months. Time Swerve Terminal has changed. It's not the same book anymore. It's gone through at least two major overhauls. I've kept the names of some of the characters but changed others. I've changed the starting point of the story. I've changed its guts, its bones, its blood.

And it's all for the better.

As I went back through (what used to be) TST and tweaked a section here, changed the pace there, added a detail then took out some others, I saw the story anew. It shifted. It morphed. It faded to black then reappeared as a different beast. One that I had to write from scratch.

That's what I've been doing since the last post. I meant to write this post a while back. In fact, I'd convinced myself I did write it. That I'd sat down at the computer and posted it. But I didn't. Because when I sat down, I opened up the (what used to be) TST file to go over what I'd written that morning. An idea came to me. Then another. And another. I had to take notes. Then I had to write a paragraph. Then another. Then I lost track of the reason I'd sat down. I forgot about the blog entry. Then kept forgetting about it. Now, here I am months later.

I don't have a title for the redone book (Evo-Earth is the working title). It won't be out for a few months. I'm debating whether to make it a long book (c. 100K words, maybe 120K) or to break that down into two shorter books which I would publish at the same time. For all the talk about people having shorter attention spans these days many of the longer books published are the better selling ones. When we find something we like, we don't mind reading longer books. But maybe offering the public a shorter, cheaper start to a series (this will be a series) is the better way to go. I still need to think about it.

The Joy of Rewriting

I used to hate rewriting. I love the creative flow of putting down the first draft. But not rewriting. The way the ideas, character arcs, plot devices and all the other details that make up a story come through to me is a rush. A high. Definitely an altered state of consciousness that is pleasurable in its own right and made even more so because of its outcome - a completed rough draft (or chapter or section or scene or whatever it is that I'm working on that day).

But then I have to rewrite. The time that flies by as I write the first draft now drags. The eagerness I approached my task as I wrote is now gone. I feel like I'm hacking away at my beautiful work, its precious ideas. I know my first draft is - by no means - perfect. But I see the beauty of its imperfection. Its awkward angles stand out like a half-hewn statue. Its uneven pace is like a toddler taking its first steps. It is a thing coming into itself and that process is delicate and gentle and unique. Never to be repeated in exactly the same way ever again.

However, as promising as the story is at that stage, it needs work. It can't grow on it own. It needs guidance. It needs polishing. I used to hate polishing. I felt like I was grinding down the details that made the story its own creature. I was stripping away its memorable and distinct qualities. Because of that, I hated rewriting. I plodded my way through it. I forced myself to do it. I felt like I was grinding myself down as I polished the story. And, to no one's surprise, the work wasn't as good. The stories were flatter, more predictable, more generic.

But that was four finished books and several dozen rough drafts along with a handful of short stories and their multiple drafts ago. Now, I look forward to rewriting. I am excited to finish the rough draft so that I can get my hands back in the clay, so to speak. With a fresh perspective, a new take, a different look at the material. Elements of the story that I had not consciously put in now jump out at me. I have several "ah ha" moments as I make new connections and the story grows fuller not lesser, more itself not less. Finishing the rough draft for me - now - is the true starting point of the story. The rough draft, as I rewrite it, begins to clarify and crystalize and shine with its own internal light and logic. When that light shines just so, I know the story done.

That's the joy of rewriting.