editing novel 2

While editing Don’t Worry About It, I was so invested in wrapping up Wren and Ashley’s relationship arc that I dropped the ball on the actual plot climax. While reading it back, I came to the conclusion that, unfortunately, I had to rewrite it. The first draft barely even had a climax, to be honest. In the first draft, Wren never goes on Brighton’s talk show. The article goes live while she’s still at home with Ashley after they hook up and Ashley sees it on her phone and shows it to Wren. That was it. In a story that focuses largely on how Wren (and Ashley) are perceived by fans and the general public, and how that is at odds with who they actually are, it made almost no sense to focus a climax on an intimate moment between the two of them. As dictated by the story, in order to have a relevant and meaningful ending, Wren needed to get her ass handed to her in public. Sorry, Wren. Needs must.

For novel 2, I did it again. Like, to a weirdly specific extent. I was too lost in the sauce on the resolution of the main pairing to give the actual plot an actual ending that justifies what came before. Just like with Don’t Worry About It, I spent a few weeks being like, nooo, it’s fine, it’s fine the way it is, I definitely don’t have to do any major rewrites, it’s not even like this one is as good or literary as Don’t Worry, remember that one lesbian romance you read years ago that still haunts you because of how bad it was and THAT one still got published, somehow? It’s fine, it’s fine…

Turns out, it is NOT fine. And now I have to rewrite the ending. And a bunch of other fiddly little pieces. And that’s really just how editing works, that’s the whole point, but man, there is just something that grates when it’s not perfect the first time. I suppose because the first draft feels the most “pure”, in the sense that it’s the most authentic expression of my vision for the story. I had an idea and I put it on paper, and that’s art. Isn’t there a legend in the writing world that Jack Kerouac wrote On The Road in three days? (No, there isn’t, I just looked this up lol). Isn’t that how ART works?! You think it, create it, and it’s done?

My approach to editing in this way is definitely tied to my experiences writing fanfiction. In fanfiction world, it rarely matters how good or cohesive the writing is. If it depicts the main pairing in a way that is pleasing to the reader, then it’s deemed good (note I didn’t say this depiction was necessarily accurate). The accolades you receive for writing imperfect fanfiction can easily lull one into a false sense of security that there is little more to “good” writing than getting the most vociferous reader feedback. If people claim to be frothing at the mouth over your writing, then it follows that colours how you approach the art of writing original fiction. If I could just be a bit funny and a bit cheeky and a bit silly and a bit when is a monster not a monster in my Dean/Castiel or Wangxian fanfiction, then it was enough.

In real writing world, despite the onslaught of terrible novels that keep getting published, that’s just not true. Even for my self-proclaimed not-as-good-as-the-first second novel. Unfortunately, I owe a decent edit to the story and the characters I spent months creating. They deserve better, and because they are me, I deserve better, too.

Which is just a bloated and pretentious way of saying I have to keep editing this fucking manuscript, UGH. I have to make more stuff up after I’ve already made it up! Editing is so deeply inefficient, like, why couldn’t I just do it right the first time? If I had to back into a parking spot this many times to get between the lines, they wouldn’t have given me my driver’s license.

I highly doubt every writer feels this way, but for me, I find it incredibly difficult to pull at the seams of my story, which is often something you have to do during the editing process. A lot of the time, like I lament above, my mindset is, “Well, if it was supposed to be there, I would’ve put in the first time!” In fact, multiple times over the course of my writing “career”, I have been in editing mode, added some small detail to a paragraph (we’re talking something about a smile, a sensory detail, an errant thought, that kind of thing), only to run into the exact same thing a paragraph or two later. I really am on the same page as myself a lot of the time, which is overall a good thing, I think, except then, alas, the seams.

From my end, adding things into subsequent drafts is akin to adding a neon sign above it that screams, “SHE ADDED THIS AFTER THE FACT! IT’S NOT ORIGINAL TO THE STORY!!!” Which is an absurd way to look at editing, and I’m not sure why I feel this way. Maybe I get too caught up in other forms of art that require less editing. For example, a painter can only paint over so much before the canvas itself becomes unworkable. From a numbers standpoint, there just isn’t as much to edit when it comes to a poem or a painting or a piece of pottery. Not saying those artists don’t sweat the details or “edit” in their own way— I’m just saying it’s a different, and objectively more voluminous beast when you’re staring down 75,000 words and expected to make it all work together.

Maybe it’s because, to me, editing is not writing. It’s admin. It’s necessary, but boring busywork. Awkward sentences, incorrect dialogue tags, a paragraph that works better here, not there, all of that to me is boring as hell. In my writing brain, I just want to gesture to the story as a whole and say, “But, like, you get where I’m coming from, right?”

I’ve discussed this before, but I don’t write on a sentence-by-sentence basis. I would never consider myself someone who “constructs” sentences. I don’t sit down and agonize over paragraph structure. I do spend a fair amount of time hunting down words, but only because I only vaguely remember the definition, or forgot a word entirely, or need to laterally think my way into a synonym. If I contemplated every single word I wrote, I would never write anything. If I assigned the same level of importance to every sentence, I would still be in chapter four of Don’t Worry. I might have the wrong impression of this because that’s the most common way for media to depict the art of writing. A character types out a sentence… second-guesses it… deletes it… re-writes… deletes… on and on. I’m not saying I’ve never done that— I absolutely have— but I am saying that’s not all there is to it. So much of my writing just happens. Thinking is secondary. There is a goal in my head, and everything that’s happening on the page is a means to an end. The finished product already exists in the ether of my mind, my only responsibility to it after that is to get it on paper. Writing, taken down to the studs, is a way to communicate ideas, and that is the baseline for my own creative process. I’m communicating a fully realized idea— not a sentence, or piece of grammar, or any singular image, but a whole that is meant to be taken that way. I suspect, were you to break Don’t Worry, or any of my subsequent works down into separate categories (syntax, grammar, imagery, prose, etc), they would not fit together 100% correctly, like they would for some other writers.

For novel two, the pacing was very off. My timelines were wrong, things either felt like they happened too quickly or not quickly enough, and the back third or so of the novel all takes place within the course of a week, while the first two-thirds of the story take place over the course of a number of months. It’s an interesting conundrum, because I like the idea of tightening up a story near the end as opposed to broadening its scope. As you wrap up plot points, you are whittling down your story to its core tenet, its reason for being. When writing Don’t Worry, that process involved snipping every social tether Wren had to other people, like plucking leaves off an already scant branch. A bit evil of me, sure, but eventually, she was on her own, and alone with herself, and breaking her down to the studs was the whole point of Don’t Worry. However, the end of Don’t Worry broadened its scope in the sense that time sped up, a decision I am still not fully sold on. The last chapter skips ahead by a year or so, whereas for novel two, everything slows down at the end and happens in a week. Technically, the latter option offers a much more intimate look at the payoff. With Don’t Worry, I was confident enough in my set-up that I could deploy a year time skip. With novel two, do I hold the same confidence in my set-up, that it can handle the extreme scrutiny that a week long climax brings? With the pacing originally so off… no. With some more tweaks? With a new, more relevant plot wrap-up and adjustments to the timeline that make more sense and give the story more time to breathe? … maybe.

I said this one was a romcom. That was a lie. I said this one was an attempt at writing a generic romance that would be more likely to cater to the broadest possible audience that is interested in lesbian fiction. That… also might have been a lie. Thinking back, even during my fanfiction years, I’m not sure that romance was ever my first priority. Which sounds nuts, because I exclusively wrote Dean/Castiel and Wangxian, and their relationship was almost always center stage. But at the same time, thinking about the worthwhile fanfiction I wrote for both pairings, none of them ever easily fell into the romance genre. Romance was always at the forefront, much like in Don’t Worry, but never the main thrust of the story. Hell, even Rat on a Horse, goofy 30k lesbian erotica I just put out, was more about the protagonist coming to terms with what she really wanted out of life. There was sex, and her love interest was fun, and it was silly and goofy and an enjoyable little piece, but even that, man, I don’t know. Maybe I’m being precious. Maybe this is one of those things that’s so obvious it’s unspoken, and I’ve just badly misread how others approach this topic. But I just can’t seem to crack whatever code it is that allows people to write broadly enjoyable romance. I kept telling myself I could definitely do it. Then, one day in the Homesense book section (yes they have one of those), I cracked open one of those cell-shaded romance covers that’s like, “She’s a klutzy goof and he’s a hunky hockey player, can they make it work? Read the #steamy #romcom that #Booktok can’t stop #tokking about!” and I paged through it for a few minutes, and I was like… I don’t actually think I can do this. This sounds like I’m being a huge asshole, like this is something so bad that I could never reach such a level of… bad. And, like, yes, the book is bad. But that’s not exactly what I’m talking about. I literally do not think I could write a book like that. I thought I could, and I have been humbled quite resoundingly. I will just never be able to write a book that appeals broadly enough to an audience, or maybe even an agent, and my writing can be worthwhile and funny and interesting and… still not be worth anything— monetarily. It is entirely possible no one will ever lay eyes on my work, and think there is value in it, and reliably tell me that, yes, there is a living to be made, here.

It’s sad. It’s a tough pill to swallow. I don’t know how long I can create “art” that no one wants (I know a few people read my original work, and fewer read this blog, and I hope I don’t have to explain what I mean by “no one” in this particularly mopey instance). I don’t want to fully psyche myself out— it is entirely possible no one will want book 2, but you never know. Maybe someone takes a chance. Maybe someone uses the right hashtag. Maybe I can embark on a path in life that allows me to feel like I am actually contributing to society with my art, instead of relying on the goodwill of internet strangers who read my Destiel fanfiction in 2017.

I’ve thought about quitting writing. I don’t have any plans to do so— but I’ve thought about it. I’ve often thought about what would be left if I left behind all the parts of me I wanted to sell. I was always fascinated by the romance of the random internet personalities who just up and left one day. “Where is she now? I’m sure she’s busy, out there enjoying her life in the real world!” Or that one friend from middle school who you only think about once every five years. Or the neighbour down the street whose lost dog you found in your yard and returned, and that was the only time you ever spoke to each other. The fantasy of what happens when people disappear from your life is exactly that— a fantasy. You can even see my fascination with this in Don’t Worry— after Wren hightails it from LA at the end, she overhears people gossiping about her whereabouts. Where could she have gone? Where did she go?! Well, she went to starve in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, Oregon, and then she was just in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, Oregon, is where she went. Probably not near as glamorous as any rumours made it seem.

In the real world, though, those people, like, just keep on trucking. They go to work. They go home. Unless they’re Wren, they eat dinner. I used to think the same about random fanfiction writers— where is she? What’s her life like? It must be sooo cool and awesome since she’s such a cool and awesome writer!! Let me put it this way. A handful of people, in a very specific corner of the internet, thought that I was a cool and awesome writer at one point, and occasionally wondered as to my whereabouts. While they wondered such things, I was likely at my shitty job, or curled up on the couch in the fetal position in my apartment because I hated that couch and that apartment, or smoking weed or drinking or overeating or whatever I felt like I needed to do at the time because I was so miserable. Small victories, but I’m finally rid of that couch and that apartment, and smoking weed or drinking in this economy? Please.

I was driving home tonight and I realized I wrote novel 2 about the most boring character in it. This must be a holdover from writing Lan Wangji POV. This isn’t really something editing can fix, and frankly, I don’t think it needs to. I think it is very, very funny. Chaos erupting all around and inside her and the protagonist is like, good thing I’m well adjusted and this barely rocks me! I mean, it does rock her, but it doesn’t. I feel great affection for both her and her love interest, despite the fact the story they exist in is not particularly inspired. There’s some verisimilitude for you. Sometimes life, even the exciting falling in love bits, are just a bit boring. I won’t be leading my query letter with that, but, you know. One woman’s boring is another woman’s most scintillating fantasy, maybe.

Finishing projects is difficult for me. Not in a literal sense— usually, the emotional shape of an ending becomes clear to me before I reach it— but in an existential one. It’s funny of me to say, because usually by the time I’ve mentally finished the novel—the emotional arc is complete and I know where I’m going, it’s just a matter of getting there— I’m already looking forward to the next one. The next character I can sink my gnarled little claws into and shake between my teeth for a bit. But at the same time, losing the emotional weight of a story I spent months on, regardless of quality, is really hard. It’s hard to let go, and it’s hard to prettily package and try to sell off wrapped in whatever the current trendy buzzwords are in the publishing industry, and it’s hard to accept that no one might want it, and it’s hard to accept that other people’s acceptance is what designates “art” from “something I wrote for fun”.

I’m almost exactly halfway through editing this novel. It’s going okay. I left myself a fair bit of room in the word count that the story has a bit of room to grow, whereas with Don’t Worry, I was constantly looking for places to trim. I’m going very slowly, which is both good, because I don’t burn out, and bad, because it can be hard to get back into the editing headspace once I leave it. The problematic pacing will likely remain as such, even as I approach something resembling a final draft. I suspect once I pull the disparate threads a little tighter and iron over the seams a little hotter, I will feel better. I think getting an outside perspective, which so far I haven’t had with this story, will help. I’ve had a number of small breakthroughs during the editing process so far, which pleases me, and I hope to have more as I move along and get to the meatier parts of the story. Or maybe, I’ll just feel better knowing I reinforced the base of the narrative enough to withstand everything else I piled on top of it. Much like I hope anyone who reads my stories feels, I’m curious to see how it all turns out.