Thursday, 8 December 2011

Down at the Factory of the Imagination in November

Last report had Number Three novel at 67,000 words.  This report has it at 74,000.  That's not too bad, although a tad behind where I was hoping to be by this point in the year.  I had hoped all the words would be down, roughly in place, and that I'd be engaged in some glorious editing by now, but I'm not quite there yet.  Another ten thousand words should do it though.  However, the closer I get to the end of a project like this, the more frequent and more pronounced the self-doubts become.  The best antidote to this is in telling myself that every draft is a rough draft, and that it's the polishing that really counts.

Writers delight, it seems, in developing metaphors that describe the process of writing, and I've been likening where I'm up to recently with the sinking of a mine shaft (without the environmental damage).  Having invested a couple of years of time and creative energy in developing this manuscript because I believed the initial workings/the exploratory drilling looked promising, I sometimes worry that when I actually get to where I need to be with it there'll be nothing of value - nothing that I value.  No gems to polish, just a slag heap of ideas.

This being Number Three though, I remind myself that I felt exactly this way with Snowing and Greening and Grease Monkey too.  Ho hum.  Onward and downward.  Be sure and steadfast, and all that.  Let's hope thar's gold in them thar hills.

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