That’s what a massive edit does to you. I spent my weekend attempting to be organised and editing my 11,000 words. Only, I ended up cutting 1500 in the process (uber soul-destroying) and not really writing much more. In theory, this means I have around 10,000 very solid words. In my head, it means I’ve actually started going backwards.
But editing is a massively necessary part of writing if you don’t want to sound like you’ve written your novel under duress or something. The poem I posted last time has changed beyond all recognition to the scrawl that first appeared on my notepad at 2am. I’ve even ended up sort of not hating it and everything. And my novel has taken on a new shape and focus: I snipped away at whole chunks of it, and it now reads from beginning to end as something almost passable. Oh yes, I’m really selling it.
The trouble is, my life is very grey at the moment. The nights are drawing in, taking half of my social life with them it seems, and work is repetitive, repetitive and repetitive. I’ve started to live off biscuits, bubble baths and boots: yep, I’m hibernating. And so is my creativity.
I’m pretty sure this is going to get worse before it gets better (it’s not even winter yet!), but I’m determined to reignite my soggy imagination and get to 20,000 words by the end of this week.
That is, right after I’ve crawled out from under my duvet.
Image taken from Irargerich‘s photostream.