I’ve been away too long. That’s it. I’ve been longing to post this and dreading it for what seems like forever. I’m rewriting the front end of a book—creating a new premise. Getting rid of a blocky flash forward. I can see the day when it’s done. I know what it will feel like to have it complete, with no broken joints among the bones. Yet even the opening pages look more like slabs of granite connected by rope than anything cohesive—flowing.
I applied the wisdom of writers, agents, and editors speaking from stages, and have put all of the fix-its my writing group posed, and feel better for the new look, new feel, but it isn’t there. I’ve let things gobble up my writing time because it’s an excuse for not getting in and doing the hard work.
One member of the group just sent his review, three weeks later. In his email he said that the moment he pushed the send button he was on his way out of town. That’s polite-speak for please don’t get back to me too soon. He said that the group had missed the mark. What he left me is a live grenade, set to blow up everything I have crafted in the wake of those earlier reviews and hallowed suggestions. I can’t wait to click open his review and let her rip. Blow up those blocks. I don’t want them. Blow them into particles. I don’t want rope. I want invisible strands.
Thanks in advance, Dave.