So here I sit at my computer working on the first official edit of my writing career. Not that I’ve never edited a book before, but this is the first time it’s been marked up by an actual editor. All in all, it’s not too bad. I use too many speech tags, which are easy enough to remove. A few minor comments and a messy timeline that needs straightening out. I can do that. But then there’s chapter one.
Remember this summer when I had to re-write chapter one? Yeah, it’s still not working right. I’ve edited and edited and edited. And it seems to be getting worse. I spent days on trying to make it work. I took scene one and scene two and flipped them, flipped them again, reversed them, yada yada. It sold the book (yay!) but it hasn’t made that first chapter make you want to read the rest. It’s weak, I don’t start where the trouble starts, all the nasty things that doom a chapter.
So here I go again. I spent a good deal of my day flipping out to my writer buddies- thank God for them, because they understand an occasional flip out. The husband tries, but in his mind it’s sold, so the job is done, right? I wish! My friends who’ve been buried in the manuscript from hell? They totally get it. So I turned into a large heap of psycho for awhile, went out for a drive, and let it go. I don’t need to flip again. I need to kill scene one. Dead. Gone. Buried.
This hurts, but it’s better for the book. Right? Hard to tell right now since I’ve been through this thing eight million times thinking I was making it better when was really… not. I’ll get there, though. Maybe even before the deadline.