The thick, dead line
Late again with the blog, but I haven't been slacking, either. The story was drafted, successfully, I think. I shared it with half a dozen people and got an equal amount of varied ideas and opinions. Not that I needed a reminder that ultimately, the only person that had to be happy with it is me. Still, I know an eclectic bunch of readers, and writers, those who do it for hobby, those who do it professionally, and academically.
It was the third draft that I ended up passing around. The feedback was reminiscent of earlier stories. No one said it was bad, but I got about as many good comments, too. Pauses, confused faces, and frowns. It helped a lot. It was the process of actually writing it that was fairly frustrating. Normally, I think about a story, I sketch out pertinent details, I think, and I mull, and I percolate, and I introspect. Then, when I'm fit to bursting, I sit down and I write. It's rough, and not fit to show to anyone, but front to back it is a completed draft.
Not this time. I mentioned before that I had simply failed to finish it. I got to a certain point, and just stopped. I was frozen by indecision about what I should say next. With the pressure of grad school apps, I pushed. I got a little more done, but it still wasn't done. I pushed again. Eventually, I got to the end of the draft, and I spent some days trying to clean it up, smooth the the edges, and sand the rough spots. That's what I showed to my readers.
The problem, which the feedback helped me realize, is that I had rushed the latter bits I had written. I was accused of being a minimalist back in college, and I've always been accused of toeing the line between not saying enough, and only saying the satisfactory amount. I get apoplectic at the prospect of over-telling. At times (read: often) this creates a need for "unpacking." Tightly wound concepts are mentioned in clipped terms and are never mentioned again, creating the reader a lot of distress in regards to juggling understanding of the ideas and consuming others, sort of like having to unwrap food while chewing on it.
I ended up adding about 600 words in an effort to better explain things. I have a few weeks until the first application is due, so I've fallen short of my "done by turkey day" goal, and I likely will not make my "done by December" goal either. Maybe I'm a procrastinator? What I am more sure about is being happy all of this is winding down, that I'm slowly checking things off, with an end in sight. I miss writing with vague, and personal deadlines. No account names or PIN numbers or passcodes or big, red, bold, underlined letters.
And even though it would be a good question to wonder what I'm signing up for, if I like being beholden to myself, I am still excited about the prospect of starting the next chapter of my development. I'm also starting to understand why good things can be better than interesting things.
It was the third draft that I ended up passing around. The feedback was reminiscent of earlier stories. No one said it was bad, but I got about as many good comments, too. Pauses, confused faces, and frowns. It helped a lot. It was the process of actually writing it that was fairly frustrating. Normally, I think about a story, I sketch out pertinent details, I think, and I mull, and I percolate, and I introspect. Then, when I'm fit to bursting, I sit down and I write. It's rough, and not fit to show to anyone, but front to back it is a completed draft.
Not this time. I mentioned before that I had simply failed to finish it. I got to a certain point, and just stopped. I was frozen by indecision about what I should say next. With the pressure of grad school apps, I pushed. I got a little more done, but it still wasn't done. I pushed again. Eventually, I got to the end of the draft, and I spent some days trying to clean it up, smooth the the edges, and sand the rough spots. That's what I showed to my readers.
The problem, which the feedback helped me realize, is that I had rushed the latter bits I had written. I was accused of being a minimalist back in college, and I've always been accused of toeing the line between not saying enough, and only saying the satisfactory amount. I get apoplectic at the prospect of over-telling. At times (read: often) this creates a need for "unpacking." Tightly wound concepts are mentioned in clipped terms and are never mentioned again, creating the reader a lot of distress in regards to juggling understanding of the ideas and consuming others, sort of like having to unwrap food while chewing on it.
I ended up adding about 600 words in an effort to better explain things. I have a few weeks until the first application is due, so I've fallen short of my "done by turkey day" goal, and I likely will not make my "done by December" goal either. Maybe I'm a procrastinator? What I am more sure about is being happy all of this is winding down, that I'm slowly checking things off, with an end in sight. I miss writing with vague, and personal deadlines. No account names or PIN numbers or passcodes or big, red, bold, underlined letters.
And even though it would be a good question to wonder what I'm signing up for, if I like being beholden to myself, I am still excited about the prospect of starting the next chapter of my development. I'm also starting to understand why good things can be better than interesting things.
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