Because I’m far from the median on the hectic-to-chaotic continuum that is currently My Life™, reading time was limited this month, and the books, for the most part, were long and/or required revving up the ol’ noggin.
This month’s reviews are abbreviated, awkward attempts to match you with a potentially great read for the next time you’re curling up on your couch, you need something to take your mind off the cloud of B.O. on your train commute, or you’re having an actual summer vacation and want to read a book. (Hello, my southern hemisphere friends! You might need to read these upside-down or counterclockwise in a warm nook.)
Which is to say, about a week ago I finished something like a draft. Now I’m reading it.
What is it, this thing that barely resembles a draft, even?
A Half Draft? It’s not quite a story. It’s a collection of thoughts with occasional B-stories popping up only to be smothered by a plot that wandered in from elsewhere. And in some places, it was the exact opposite.
A Skeleton Draft? It’s got good bones, but no body.
A WTF Draft (self-explanatory)
A Whatever-the-Word-Is-for-the-Mess-Left-After-a-Long-Planned-Playdate Draft?
The Loogie Draft? I needed to hock up the phlegmy remnants (ew) of the last novel. A productive cough, if you will. Some things I will keep (unlike anything I’ve ever expectorated). Most I will not. They’ve outstayed their welcome.
Perhaps it’s kinder to refer to it as the Rebound Draft. Ok. Just ignore “Loogie Draft.” Go with Rebound Draft.
It shouldn’t matter, ultimately, what we call the thing. But it does matter to me because naming imbues a sense. Where am I? Am I lost? (YES! AND THAT’S OK!) Can I see the destination for this one?
MAYBE!
There’s a marked wobbliness after the Half-Skeleton Post-Playdate Loogie-Free WTF Rebound Drafts. Especially after thinking the last book was going to be THE ONE.
But my husband was my rebound guy. That’s working out pretty well. All wobbliness there is welcome.
I am going to have to make significant changes. Big, sweeping, panoramic changes now that I understand what I want to say and the story that is screaming to be told.
So the next few weeks are for re-outlining, reworking beats, and writing other beats for the first time, crafting the characters who need to be in the story now, and removing characters who no longer do. (Sorry, imaginary people. Wish you were here.)
It doesn’t feel like writing, but it is. Or something like it.
And that’s my process. Slow, ugly, thorny, and chock full of doubt. And ever forward.
Which is to say, that about a week ago I finished something like a draft.
Jackie Pick 