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Gimme rewrite! Rewriting vs. editing

Bob — Sat, 18 Apr 2009 02:48:28 +0000

I like to worry about odd things. These thoughts usually come to me in that crease between falling asleep and being asleep. Sometimes the damn things actually wake me up.

The latest was the difference between re-writing and editing. Can writers edit or do they only re-write? If an editor does a heavy-handed job, is it really a rewrite? When does it reach a point that an editor deserves a co-byline? Should editors even be allowed to edit that much?

I worked one summer as a copyeditor at a ski magazine. The editor had accepted a freelance article that was so badly written I had to take a heavy blue pencil (yes, it was that long ago) to it. The story was as much mine as the writer’s. We should have sent it back to the author.

As a writer, I always re-write — probably too much. But do I edit my own work?

I know it doesn’t matter, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying about it. I have to quit this post. The Muse just raised her head from the couch and inquired about proofreading.

Starting a book project

Bob — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 02:59:22 +0000

Starting a book project is work. Hard work.

I am organizing the notes and documents into a set of folders that follow the current, loose outline. I have to scan some documents.

I have to set up organizational and reminder software. I want to just start writing, to get into the “fun” work (HA!) of writing. This preliminary stuff is almost enough to make me kick the Muse off the couch and take a nap.

Is writing an addiction? Why do we writers willingly spend so much time suffering? We suffer to write; we suffer when we write. We agonize over the flaws after publication.

We write again. Ad infiwritum.

The Muse is on strike

Bob — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 00:28:59 +0000

I spent much of the weekend grading papers. That means (a) I spent virtually no time on my own major writing projects, and (b) I was exposed to toxic student writing, which serves to diminish my own writing skills. Those who can string seven or eight words together that actually make sense are disarmingly few.

The muse feels neglected, abused and ignored. She tried whispering sweet somethings and softly stroked my mind, but to no avail. I forged ahead with the grading, headache and all. Now she refuses to talk to me, and she is back on the couch watching C-SPAN re-runs. At least she is not smoking.

Sigh. Back to the papers.

The Muse and the couch

Bob — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 03:38:43 +0000

I have developed this bad habit — especially for someone who wants to become a full-time freelance writer — of endlessly fiddling with a paragraph instead of moving through the story.

It has become an obsession, trying to make the paragraph perfect instead of actually keeping the words flowing through my mind and out my fingers. There’s always time to go back and fix, polish. When the muse whacks you upside the head, you need to go with it.

Lately, however, I shush the Muse and agonize over the placement of that comma. Then I review my Tweets, check my-email, see if I have made a dime on an AdSense click, and get a drink of water from the kitchen.

By the time I get back to the keyboard, the Muse is asleep on the couch and I can’t recall where I was going with the story. Then I hit the couch, too. Maybe the Muse will rub my temples.