the monster under the bed

Editing. Editing. Editing. Editing.

There I said it. It’s not such an evil word. The demons we don’t face are always scarier in our imagination than in reality. (Monsters Inc. does a good job teaching that lesson.)

I’ve been editing for what seems like an eternity.

Don’t get me wrong, I love it. Writing is not something one does for anything other than love. Or if they do, I’m quite certain they quickly stop once they realize that it’s not as glamorous as it’s made out.

But, it does scare me. It scares me because I wonder if I can make it shine, can I make it sparkle, can I do it justice? I’m not one to wallow in self-doubt, but editing does bring out the occasional anxiety in me. I suppose it’s because that every time I bring the piece (section) to a new level, I see that it can, and needs to go to another, even higher level.

A little while back I mentioned that my violin teacher told me that playing the violin is harder than writing. Well, I’m not certain I agree, but I’ve begun approaching my writing as I am my musical study. Phrase by phrase. Dissecting each note. The similarities are huge, but I won’t go into that analogy today.

I am currently breaking each paragraph down, and then each line. I ask myself the purpose of it, then I determine what I’m actually showing, and do my best to make them equal each other.

Purpose = composition.

I can do this only once I’m certain each piece has a place. Back-story must be weaved in without jarring the reader out of the story, characters must be stable, description has to be in the right quantity and location. Oh the list goes on. But even that is not enough.

Purpose = composition.

That’s where I’m at.

What about you?

See, hard work does pay off!

I’m breaking my schedule by posting on a Saturday morning, but last night before bed, I read Teresa’s post, Big news!, where she announced her representation by an agent.

Teresa began blogging around the same time I did last year, and is one of my first blogging friends. She is one of the most dedicated workers when it comes to writing I have ever met (along side with Patricia from my writing group who has not yet been enticed on-line, hint hint). Teresa WORKED at her writing, spending hours researching her own work and the craft. I am very proud of her and happy for her, and wish her lots of success.

This morning, as I made myself some scrambled eggs (French style, soft, with sharp cheese), I was feeling a little unhappy with myself. After I read Teresa’s great news, one of my first thoughts was, hey, that should be me. Well, I thought, a bit self-absorbed, aren’t I? It was a shocking revelation, because I had never thought I was writing with the purpose of publication.

Yes, of course, I wanted to be published, but that wasn’t why I wrote. At least that’s what I thought. In this last week I read this post by guest blogger RD over at Lua’s blog (a new blogging friend for me!). This morning, over coffee and eggs, it all clicked together.

Confession #2: I haven’t begun tackling my own work at all since baby was born, three months ago today.

Well, I have been busy with 2 kids and a newborn. I have been tired. I hurt my back. I have a terrible cold. I didn’t sleep last night. I couldn’t put baby down. My kids are around all the time. It’s summer holiday, after all, I shouldn’t be working. I spend a minimum of half the day of every day of the week at the pool. Hmmm…what else? My sitter’s in Europe. My husband’s contracts are enormous this summer. Oh yes, I need to cook, clean the washroom once in a while, maybe do some laundry and actually fold it. Did I mention there’s a garden? And oh yeah, I still didn’t sleep, and I still can’t put baby down. And my other two kids want to go on their bikes, and play soccer, and go to the park, and got to the pool (again!), and go on playdates, and and and.

At least this is what I’ve been telling myself for the last 6 weeks or so. And all this would be valid, if I didn’t need to write. I’m shaking with the need to write. Sometimes I can hardly keep a conversation up, I am so focused internally on creating stories and stringing words together.

The truth is, it all comes back to fear. Fear I didn’t know I had when I read RD’s post. But, I do (and for some reason Teresa’s success made me realize it.). I have fear of not having the time to do what I want. Fear of not being as productive as I want to be. Fear of not succeeding. Fear of not being published. Because that means that this talent, or gift, or inclination, or whatever you want to call it, might not be real. That means I would have to question myself as a writer. I have a graduate degree in biochemistry that I have no interest is using, will this writing thing be the same?

As you can see this was a heavy morning for me and it’s only 9:23 am! I am grateful for it, because I have the answers for these questions I never even realized I was posing. I write because stories are created within myself, and I need to experience them (through writing). I write because language is beautiful. Because written words bring life, and describe emotions in ways I cannot do with speech. I write because when I don’t I am tense, and agitated. When I write I feel complete.

Get on over there, and give Teresa a congratulations, and while you’re there, if you haven’t poked around I suggest you do. Her site is full of information all writer’s can benefit from, from a writer who loves this art and craft.

Have a terrific weekend.

(side question: is there any benefit at all to posting tags? Can someone explains this to me please?? I wonder how much I should experiment with them…)