The Great Delete

I opened the Word file to refresh my brain. I hadn't worked on the story in awhile and that's a good way to drop the plot. So, I began to read. And I enjoyed myself until I reached chapter four. The more I read the more an unsettling feeling came over me.

I could so delete this.

In fact...I believe I need to.

Chapter Four is 20 pages.

Chapter Five also necessary to being deleted is currently at 19 pages.

Now I don't claim to be great at math but 39 pages to go is leaving me a bit breathless. That's 12, 377 words. Gone. Out of 26, 382. HALF of what I've written. I feel a little light-headed.

Why am I deleting almost 13k words? Because they don't move the story forward. In fact I think those 13k words are responsible for this book grinding to a halt because of the lack of forward motion. I knew one scene had to go in Chapter Five as it was so stupid it make my gag reflexes kick in but to discover half my written wordage...gak.

But if the words aren't working. If the story isn't flowing. Then something has to change. On the plus side...I've realized what scene I need to write next. Duh. How obvious.

Ah writing. How fun is this job.

Two

I've been noticing my writing process lately. I suppose it's because I'm re-entering the world of conflict, point of view, wild monkey sex, pacing, and so on. But this has happened to me before.

I write and write and write. Then I stop. Then about two years go by and I start up again. Not exactly a healthy way to establish a career.

The first two year void was because I listened to someone else. A fellow writer, at a conference, tapped the cover of a Rachel Gibson book and said "I can so see you having a cover like this." We were in the same writing association at the time, she was just about to be published, I was not. I had been struggling for awhile, trying to find my niche as I wasn't able to make myself fit the Harlequin mold. Too dark, too raunchy, too much swearing (hello Jenna? Hint hint hint) so I hunched over the keyboard of Cami (my hot pink iMac) and pounded out a romantic comedy. And I loathed the entire experience.

Y'know, just because you're the class clown at writing meetings, doesn't mean you should write funny. I'd constantly call/email my writing compadre and ask "Is this funny? Aurgh. Is THIS funny?" I'd get frustrated when my penchant for the darkside would come out and would start to hit the delete key (hard) as I told myself "Keep it light. Keep it light!" My writing compadre/support system/best friend of the pseudonym Kate Lang was also attempting a romantic comedy. Again: just because you're the class clown at the writing meetings, doesn't mean you should attempt a romantic comedy.

We battled. We cursed. We produced...utter crap that we submitted!! I hated the process so much I stopped writing. Oh I banged out a few beginnings but nothing worth finishing. Just crap. Utter crap. Until Kate found Ellora's Cave and decided that we could write erotic romance.

And so we did. Ahhh. Bliss. I could be dark. I could be raunchy. I could curse like a mo-fo. And it all fit.

Then came Dad's death. It hit me hard. Writing was no longer a priority. It was just getting through the heart ache, dealing with the loss. One month of not writing, then two, then four, then a year. I had nothing in me.

Until the flu trapped me in my bed for a week. Utterly bored because I can't live on Sims2 alone, I started to troll my archives.

And damned if it isn't almost two years just like the last time.

So does this mean I have to pace myself? Or do I need a healing process after awhile? A reboot so to speak? I don't know. This process though is a good way to get my name forgotten. And really I don't want another 2 year dry spell. That's a total of 4 years not writing. 4. And considering I've happily tapped out around 19,000 words in one week a few months, that's a lot of missed words.

I love writing. I know this. Even when I wasn't writing. It's who I am. And so how could I, for whatever reason, deny who I am by not writing?

I dunno but I sure got to fix this or in a year, I'll be hitting the wall again and man...it's so hard to unstick yourself when you've hit it that hard.