It’s April. I’m quiet. I’m revising. Being a vigilant mother. Cooking for house guests (i.e. Costco-ing for house guests). Hulu-ing Parenthood (help me, Obi Wan—it’s my only vice). Typing in my quips on Facebook (help me, O.W.—it’s my only other vice). Juicing oranges from our generous tree. Lining up vital crafts for certain peppy fingers. Working out (but not enough). Dreaming of Cornwall. Dreaming I’m on stage and have no idea what play I’m in. Engaging in teamwork—including stepping up to scoop dog poop from the lawn. Revising (repeat—repeat—repeat).
My new thing is copying a chapter from the current draft of my manuscript, pasting it into a fresh Word document, printing out the chapter, muddying it up with ink from my zebra pen, and transferring edits to said fresh Word document. This eases my mind as far as the cutting and slashing I’ve been experimenting with—i.e. by keeping my current draft alive as I create a current-current draft. THAT’S RIGHT, THIS IS THE GIBBERISH I WRITE AT 9:11 P.M. AFTER BEING UP AT 4:30 A.M. TO LET DOG OUT INTO CHILLY NIGHT, WIPE CAT GAK FROM THE HALLWAY, COVER BIRD AS FORGOT TO EARLIER, CHECK ON LITTLE BOY AND RETURN TO BED ONLY TO HAVE NIGHTMARE OF BEING ABDUCTED BY ALIENS. WHO PUT ME ON A STAGE. IN A PLAY. ABOUT WHICH I KNEW NOTHING. NOT TO MENTION MY LINES. Then up at 5:45a.m. For. The. Day.
Yes, revising is a quiet business. It’s best I get back to it. Good night. Sweet dreams (!!!). And please don’t ring the doorbell.