I finished the read-through yesterday, and I grinned like it was Christmas. The End. I could have blown up a red balloon and soared into the sky. But then I remembered what comes after the read-through and my balloon deflated with a hysterical whine. Christmas became the first day of school after winter break.
It’s time for the revision.
An impending revision is like the dark cloud over Mordor, or the first strike against Cloud Cuckoo Land. It would be honorable to wield my best pen and fight, but all I want to do is cower in the corner and play Candy Crush. Revising isn’t like writing the rough draft. I can’t tell myself I’ll fix it later, because this is later. If I don’t get a sentence right, I have to do it again. Then again. Then again.
I’ve done revisions in the past, but I was lazy about it. I thought I was Shakespeare. Shall I compare thee to Hemingway? Thou art more grammatically correct and articulate. Then the rejection letters began to fill my inbox and rationality found me like the first spark on a candle wick.
There was a ball in my chest last night as I opened my laptop, page one resting on my knee. So far I haven’t found anything lurking in a corner, but I know this false hope won’t last. When I come to a chapter that needs an overhaul, or an entire section that needs to be cut, my pen will run dry and I will cower in the corner and play Candy Crush until the Nazgûl give up and move on.