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A storage of oddities |
The soul was rotting, facing a fiery eternity in the bottom
of a three door file cabinet, drowning in the sin of bad grammar and poor plot
points. It needed to be reborn, given
new life so that it might not suffer the fatal eternity that was awaiting
it. It desperately needed the gospel of
revision to save its poor, pathetic soul.
A few weeks back, I rediscovered a stack of old stories and
articles. They were in sad shape. Suffice it to say, my writing has improved in
the thirty years since I first picked up a pen.
Some of the stories weren’t even finished, dropped after a few chapters
because I either gave up or became distracted by another storyline that had
gripped my attention. They were
abandoned to manila folders that faded over time on paper that turned yellow
with the years hidden in my desk drawer.
The ideas were not fleshed out; they weren’t even thought completely
out. Back then I grew excited about an
idea and started writing. No
background. No idea where I was
going. Just a thought, a glimpse of an
idea, and I was absorbed in a story that sometimes had no ending.
I pulled these manuscripts out, a few typed with dozens of
mistakes, others hand written and began to type them into Word files for
posterity. As I did, the stirrings of
the ideas that had started me working on them refreshed themselves into my
imagination and they weren’t that bad.
I’ve actually been reworking some of the stories, doing those things
that I should have done way back when that I didn’t know to do. I started exploring my characters, getting to
know them; researching the cities or fantasy worlds I had started to create,
giving them more and more definition and truth.
These stories could still work.
They could be born again.
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Sorting through old files |
It was the same with old articles, whether they had sold or
not. It was time to rework them,
updating the information, change up the anecdotes, and breathe new life into
them. A new article emerged and new
markets were found, which meant new money was soon coming my way.
Carpenters do it with old furniture, mechanics with old
cars, and I wish someone would do it with my joints and muscles. However, it works with manuscripts and will
keep me typing for years to come. Nothing
is trash. Sometimes, it just needs to be
aged and inspected in a new light.
I hate giving up on manuscripts. I’ve invested hours, sweat, blood, ink and
frustration into them, falling in love - or hate - with some of the characters
on the pages. They need to see the light
of publication. They need to feel the
healing power of revision, being covered in the red ink of edits that will rise
them up from the ashes and set them on the righteous path of publication. Don’t
give up. Every manuscript needs a chance
at being born again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Other posts you might enjoy ~ Out of the Nest
Thanks for visiting The Mess! Keep chasing your dreams!
I truly need to do this. So many, just sitting and you're right, "Nothing is trash." Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteIt has been enlightening and scary at the same time. A fun exercise in learning how far I've come.
DeleteWhat a lovely retrospective of the writer's lot!
ReplyDeleteThank you! And thanks for visiting.
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