Through the glint of gold around the pupil.
I think all colors start in Vermont and then fade from there
Yesterday's adventure in editing was turning a chapter that felt like a short story into a chapter that felt like a chapter of a novel. There was only one chapter that turned out that way when I was writing TKM, and it was one of the first parts of the book I wrote, and I didn't know how to write a novel yet. And I remember sitting down and thinking to myself, "Well just write it how you can write it, and then you'll fix it later." A few months later I fixed it a little bit, but recently my sharp editor said, "You're going to need to fix it a lot more." So that was what I did yesterday.
Of course there is more to be done on it (there is always more to be done), but right about now is when it starts getting really interesting, when you can see the potential of the book, the way every part, every sentence, every paragraph, every chapter, should be in service to the greater whole of the story. There should be nothing that stops the reader, only moves them forward. The editing process is all about smoothing over; it's when you pave the road to the end of the book. There can be as many sharp turns as you like, or rolling hills, or even a steep, straight shot up to the top, but that pavement better be damn smooth.
Looks like someone's been living out of her car for too long.
+++
Let's face it, I've already talked a lot about Instant Love in plenty of other places. It's almost as if there are no insights left.
And yet, I've managed to mine just one more personal nugget out of the book for an essay now up on Nextbook: What Lies Beneath.
Check it out. It's all about me being the worst Jew ever.
(07/20/06)