…I don’t even know what I’ll do. Go crazy. Delete the entire thing. Maybe even swear off writing for ever.
As I rush through the very final stages of editing Implant I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve gone over this book. I enjoy a good re-read as much as the next bibliophile, but the same work five times in two weeks is just a little bit overkill. I practically have this memorized. I’m absolutely sick of it.
And yet, I still find that it makes me smile.
I’m rushing along, going over this chapter with a fine-toothed comb for the umpteenth time, bemoaning my word choices and grammatical mistakes–and Doc and Neil start arguing. And I just can”t help a grin.
I think that’s when you really know the heart of your story. Why you love it. What fueled it from its inception to the final draft. It’s not the first time you have the idea, it’s not getting feedback from your readers, it’s when the thought of reading this stinking book one more time makes you want to vomit and you still aren’t tired of this particular aspect. It still warms your heart, gets you grinning, and excites you. After all this time.
For me, for Implant, that’s the relationship between Doc and Neil. I can second-guess every other part of the book, bemoan my weak plotting skills, and agonize over whether this or that sentence makes sense, but when Doc and Neil come on the scene, I relax, and just enjoy the moment. For the hundredth time.
Those two get me through it all. And I can’t wait to share them with you.
It won’t be much longer now.