I work as a teacher. I grade a lot of papers. Some are carefully crafted magnificent experiences created by amazing wordsmiths. There are however, many that become an experiment in the tensile strength of paper bathed in red ink. At a certain point, I realize that I can see fractal patterns and I believe that my chicken scratches are divine intervention.
The tables have turned.
I am currently editing and writing at the same time. It is without a doubt that I love writing. It’s an opportunity to express myself and create a world without limitation. I’ve discovered that if writing is the utopian world I want, it’s only supported by the gruesome underworld of editing. I write an entire novel in a thirty-day period and it shows when I get to the editing phase. I can no longer comment on a student’s writing now that I’ve seen how much editing I’m currently putting into my current novel.
I’ve decided to put some elbow grease into my craft by revisiting mechanics, structure, grammar and even simple spelling. It’s been tedious to say the least, but I’m enjoying the fact that as I’m reading my current novel that it feels, well, more solid. I can’t say that anything I write is going to be the next big thing, but I can definitely tell that it is improving from where it once started.
The novel that I am revisiting right now is the start in a length series of books I hope to continue working on. The characters are much richer than I originally anticipated and the world has a lot of potential for expansion. I’m writing what I’m passionate about and I think it translates into the work. I’m setting some soft deadlines to be done with the first second draft and with that, getting it into a state that it’s suitable for an agent’s eyes. I’m nervous and excited about the potential waves of letters, both positive and negative about my writing.