Okay, so it's not really the scariest word ever, even if I used to believe it was.
That was before.
Before I completed a novel. Before I reworked and edited and rewrote and changed the words so many times my head was spinning. And before I had a few crit partners read my story.
My outlook on revision has changed drastically in the last couple of weeks.
You see, I've had some input now. And it was good, helpful input. I can see where my characters are weak. I can see where I need to describe more, where I need to alter the world, where I need to skip a scene or add a scene.
I've been provided with a new view of my writing, and because of that, I'm ready for revision. Or Re-Vision - my new term, which is possibly less scary than the word 'revision'.
Honestly, I now have a new vision of certain parts of my story, and I'm ready to incorporate some changes. My re-visioning will be put on paper, so to speak. (As a writer I reserve the right to make up words as needed.)
I'm giving myself a deadline. I need to push myself to do it. The date I'm shooting for is circled in my planner. In red.
And once I reach my goal of finishing my Re-Vision, I'll work on my query.
Now THERE'S a scary word!
Monday, February 20, 2012
Once upon a time there was a little girl who loved to imagine things.
It wasn't surprising, really. When she visited one set of grandparents, she would hear wild tales of a young Indian boy, including the howls of wolves and hoots of owls that accompanied his travels. Or she'd hear about the gypsies who roamed the countryside, waiting to steal away young children who wandered too far from home. At her other grandparents', she would make up stories about what was hidden up the narrow, twisted stairway that was behind the kitchen door. Her heart would beat wildly as she considered climbing to the top to peek at the goblins she knew would be there.
At home, her mother told her stories of little girls who had exciting adventures. Naturally, there was always one named Tina. She was a princess or a dancer or a unicorn trainer. Anything was possible in a story.
When her older sister would shut the bedroom door, demanding that she picked up her toys, the little girl would imagine a crooked old witch, setting a timer and threatening her with dark magic if she wasn't finished in time. Monsters and faeries would battle around her as she worked. Her vivid daydreams were full of brightly colored creatures.
One day, the little girl discovered a story about a mermaid who loved a human. Turning page after page, she came to the tragic end of the story. Tears filled her eyes. It was the first time she understood the incredible power of words. She was seven.
By that summer, the library had become one of her favorite places. It was there that she borrowed every book she could get her hands on, transporting herself to different worlds - from the moors of England to the red villages on Mars - always landing back in the safety of her own room.
And then, she realized that she could tell stories, too.
She wrote story after story over the years, usually hiding them away - keeping her wild imaginings to herself.
Then, one day, as a grown woman with children of her own, she decided it was time to stop hiding her words.
Embarking on a new journey, she started to write a story that she would share. She was excited. And scared. Her words wouldn't be for her own eyes only anymore.
Using every extra (and not so extra) moment, she wrote. And edited. And dreamed of the story she was telling. And when the story was finished, she worked on a way to share it.
And that is where we'll leave her story.
You may ask how this tale ends, but nobody knows. The ending hasn't been written yet. ;)