This is how we live
I like to tell my students when they fail that an error only becomes a mistake when they neglect to learn from it. It's largely semantics, but there is a certain difference in permanence between the two. Make a wrong turn on a new commute, that's an error, that's an opportunity. Make the same wrong turn six months later, that's a mistake, that's a flatly wrong decision. Like an exhausted mine, it's settled and resigned in what it is, and what it isn't.
So, the cover art is almost done for the third book, but I finished the edits yesterday. There is still a dull whine like I've forgotten something, but before I left the office I was able to read the last line on the last page, be satisfied with the sum total, and sigh. The conversations about Covid 19 in earshot have been escalating, but in the midst of all that the only thing I felt was gratitude. I'm a bit in awe, really, of the transformation I was able to enact, from the little changes, like when I clearly was writing lazily and didn't have much of a fixed idea and things drifted, and I was able to encase the meaning with stronger ideas and more direct diction. To the big things, like plot tethers I didn't realize I was failing to take advantage of, or research pieces I was able to work into the narrative to lend more grounding. At one point last week, a thought crystallized for me, and it was 'this is almost like a different person wrote this.'
Truth be told, before I got to that point I was doing a lot of grumbling. Like a frustrated child kicking a rock down a street, I turned the pages. I couldn't believe I was reading it through again. It was fine, I thought to myself. And are we okay with just fine, my self rebutted. I stuck my lip out and sulked. No, I had to admit. I started all this, in concept, because I felt like the stories were good enough to be read; I thought they deserved to be read. Broad strokes, I wanted to earn my name. I wanted future publishers to see my record and look on it with a growing confidence. I still wanted my stock in a stable somewhere. But it all fell on me. Catching every error, preventing every mistake, was my responsibility. And in the beginning, I resented it. I was perturbed at the me that left typos behind.
And I don't know when it changed. I do know that the last ten chapters or so really benefited from it. A lot of things were happening, and there was a narrative juggle that I was doing. The fact of the matter is that some seven or eight years ago I just wasn't as practiced. What's more, because it was like it was someone else, it was almost like I had an extra set of hands to catch everything and send them up again. It made me really look forward to working on the back half of the eight books. I was in a different place for those than I was for the initial volumes. So much so that I have trouble remembering what even happens. Even more, I am curious, for the first time in a long, long time about what might happen. I wonder how the story ends for this character, or this one, I thought to myself. Read and see, my self replied back. Which I guess explains fixed mindset, versus growth mindset, something else I talk about with my students. Perspective matters.
It looks like I will be posting the cover art around the time it's finalized. The artist, who has a name and a website I should mention, told me he has a growing appreciation for cover art, and his statement made me wonder how he is changing, growing, from interacting with me. I can only guess at his evolution as we fall through our miscommunications and misunderstanding and roll into new realizations. It can be a scary process, adaptation, or not, depending on how it's taken in.
Even still, wash your hands.
So, the cover art is almost done for the third book, but I finished the edits yesterday. There is still a dull whine like I've forgotten something, but before I left the office I was able to read the last line on the last page, be satisfied with the sum total, and sigh. The conversations about Covid 19 in earshot have been escalating, but in the midst of all that the only thing I felt was gratitude. I'm a bit in awe, really, of the transformation I was able to enact, from the little changes, like when I clearly was writing lazily and didn't have much of a fixed idea and things drifted, and I was able to encase the meaning with stronger ideas and more direct diction. To the big things, like plot tethers I didn't realize I was failing to take advantage of, or research pieces I was able to work into the narrative to lend more grounding. At one point last week, a thought crystallized for me, and it was 'this is almost like a different person wrote this.'
Truth be told, before I got to that point I was doing a lot of grumbling. Like a frustrated child kicking a rock down a street, I turned the pages. I couldn't believe I was reading it through again. It was fine, I thought to myself. And are we okay with just fine, my self rebutted. I stuck my lip out and sulked. No, I had to admit. I started all this, in concept, because I felt like the stories were good enough to be read; I thought they deserved to be read. Broad strokes, I wanted to earn my name. I wanted future publishers to see my record and look on it with a growing confidence. I still wanted my stock in a stable somewhere. But it all fell on me. Catching every error, preventing every mistake, was my responsibility. And in the beginning, I resented it. I was perturbed at the me that left typos behind.
And I don't know when it changed. I do know that the last ten chapters or so really benefited from it. A lot of things were happening, and there was a narrative juggle that I was doing. The fact of the matter is that some seven or eight years ago I just wasn't as practiced. What's more, because it was like it was someone else, it was almost like I had an extra set of hands to catch everything and send them up again. It made me really look forward to working on the back half of the eight books. I was in a different place for those than I was for the initial volumes. So much so that I have trouble remembering what even happens. Even more, I am curious, for the first time in a long, long time about what might happen. I wonder how the story ends for this character, or this one, I thought to myself. Read and see, my self replied back. Which I guess explains fixed mindset, versus growth mindset, something else I talk about with my students. Perspective matters.
It looks like I will be posting the cover art around the time it's finalized. The artist, who has a name and a website I should mention, told me he has a growing appreciation for cover art, and his statement made me wonder how he is changing, growing, from interacting with me. I can only guess at his evolution as we fall through our miscommunications and misunderstanding and roll into new realizations. It can be a scary process, adaptation, or not, depending on how it's taken in.
Even still, wash your hands.
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