Do we ever actually finish? Are we all not constant editors?

It came up recently on a forum to which I contribute but was part of the debate about sometimes being rejected coming as a relief; it stops you making a fool of yourself. It was also connected with a discussion about hybrid publishers. A big topic, and the rest of it is for another day. 

I did remark that I'll often alter text as I go to read it out. This is after it has been published or self-published i.e. after a publisher has taken a risk with me or I have taken the risk myself, but both scenarios include a thorough editing process. And it isn't only because you need to the text to be a little different if it's to be read aloud. Most of the time it's because I've noticed another way to improve my text. 

I'm not the only one. Another creative writer / academic friend of mine visited my university and read from her debut novel to some of my students. She paused part of the way through the first page. "Gosh," she said. "I've only just realised; I tell my student never to do that." The book had been edited and published by a reputable publisher. 

Reading is no longer the same for me. Many of my students, whether they study English literature or creative writing, find the same thing. An inner voice constantly critiques the text. However, this constantly analysing mind can offer one advantage; you can enjoy a text you wouldn't normally enjoy because deconstructing it and establishing why it doesn't work for you can be an enjoyable task and brings some education.

Eleven years of marking creative writing and twenty years of critiquing it also add to this process, though I find it harder to do the same to my own work unless I leave it alone for several months.                        

I actually keep a blog of recommended reads. These are for texts that take me out of the editor's head. They are rare: I can be totally absorbed in a story and no longer seeing the black marks on the white paper and something will jolt me out of that dreamlike state; it may be some odd formatting, a missing apostrophe or an awkward phrase.

Still, there is no need for despair. This constant editing activity surely leads to better writing.        

First Creative Writing Lecture of the Semester

Yes, that’s right. We lecture on creative writing. Thirty-eight students turned out to an introductory lecture. We were expecting 41. But five did not show who were on our lists.
What does one lecture about in creative writing?
Well, this week there was a lot of housekeeping. The programme leader came and talked about the programme. I talked about some specific module details. The other two tutors were introduced. We chose student reps. Six people volunteered. Usually it’s a struggle to find one.
Then there was the real content.
Usually, only a handful of our students have a portfolio of writing. This time, most of the room put their hands up to say they had. The secondary and tertiary education systems do not normally allow much space for creative writing.
I emphasized the need to write every day. They should set themselves a goal of two minutes – that’s right – just two minutes. Chances are, they’ll get started and end up doing two hours. I also pointed out how important it was to take part every week in the workshop and how this will actually make the completion of the assignment easier. I encouraged them too to keep a writer’s journal.
I pointed out how gradually the way they read will become different. They will become quicker and more critical. They’ll find they can’t read without critiquing but it does mean that they can enjoy texts in a different way.
And then there are all those activities that are to do with writing that don’t seem like work – people-watching, reading and watching films. Absorbing story in all sorts of different ways.
The biggest shock may have been, I suspect, that I told them they should be spending 200 hours on each module they’re on. They have, of course, already done some of the work. They’ve probably been doing it all their lives.

Writers' Minds

Do we ever stop thinking about our writing?

When I think of a story I tend to see it as film in my head.  I then need to work out how to turn that film in my head into prose on the page. I think about these matters when I’m driving or travelling on public transport, if I can’t sleep at night and when I’m daydreaming as I eat or drink. I sometimes get that spooky feeling that my characters are following me around.

Occasionally something else happens – this tends to be when I’m writing shorter prose – such as a piece of life-writing and even sometimes shorter fiction.  Then I actually hear the words in my head as if someone, possibly someone with my own voice, is whispering them to me. This is quite comforting: if I should ever go blind, I may still be able to work. So, I’m sort of playing and replaying. And I’m getting an idea of how it will sound in the reader’s head.

It seems that writers’ default mind occupation is their writing.    

A downside perhaps is that we can’t shut that inner editor up. As we read other people’s work, and as we watch films, we analyse and criticise. That of course develops our capacity to criticise our own work. Does this spoil our enjoyment? I don’t think so – it makes us enjoy texts in another way. Sometimes we can do both at once. For instance, I’m enjoying the Stephenie Meyers’ Twilight series. In fact, I can hardly put them down. Nevertheless, I’m still aware that she’s getting away with some things my students would never be allowed to do. Occasionally we meet that text that blows us away and absorbs us completely – Iain Laurence’s The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter did it for me. Maeve Binchy often does it as well. Even then, we start asking ourselves “Why does this text work so well?”  

It doesn’t end with what we read and what we write. We tend to go around sniffing out and seeing stories everywhere. Every experience we have, including the bad ones, become something which may appear on the page later.        

Busy places, writers’ minds.            

Quality Control

I’ve decided to enter a competition. It is for a piece of life-writing. I have some little snippets I call Glimpses. I took a look last night. I was appalled that at some point in the past I had thought these good. I now find them decidedly iffy. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the last one was the best. It wasn’t the most sparkling topic but it was reasonably well written and quite engaging.
However, I am sure if I take another look today and certainly if I take a look in a few weeks time, I’ll think differently again. The Constant Editor is always with us. I hope this means that my writing is getting better and better. I’m sure I’ll never be completely satisfied.
I’m certain I’m not alone in this. I guess most writers behave the same way. It is in the end a form of quality control.

Trouble Shooting

A lot of writing is about trouble-shooting.
Your characters won’t behave, so you pin them down or listen to them and pin yourself down.
You don’t like your work when you reread it x weeks on, so you change it to please the writer that you have now become.
You become published and that means dealing with an editor and a copy-editor. They are there to make the work as good as it can be. But they can also make you feel totally inadequate. You have to hang on to the fact that they basically like your work. Very much in fact in these days of cut backs, which make it even harder to get published. Copy editors can be infuriating. But they are often right and when they’re wrong you might find you are as well and you have to find a third way. The third way, incidentally can be far better than either the first or the second. We’re not talking compromise. We’re talking about something far bigger.
The book is out there. What will the reviewers and the critics think? What will your personal friends think? They say they enjoyed listening to you read at the book launch. A week later they don’t even remember going to your book launch. Were they just being polite?
You agree, actually. That book that has just come out was finished probably at least a year ago.
You aim is just to write perfectly. Every time you miss that particular mark you have to trouble shoot. In the end, writing is mainly rewriting.

Jobbing Writing

I talked at length about this yesterday with my students. It is perfectly possible to make a living as a writer, love writing and still end up hating your work. You may be spending your time writing one thing when you’d rather be writing something else.

However, even when we get the dream commission, we have to write to the market. And it is indeed rare that any book gets past a skilled editor completely intact, and you wouldn’t really want a less skilled editor. There’s always some more tinkering to do according to somebody else’s will.

I’m probably grumpy about this at the moment because I’m writing something which is a little tedious. It’s a non-fiction book, a resource for teachers, in fact, and has to be in very plain English – with some French thrown in, and has repetitive patterns. And it is about something I believe in passionately.

I’m just at that point a little over half way through, where you still feel as if you’ve got a lot left to do. Plus I fell over the other day – tripped over thin air in fact –and now have a really colourful eye and a few sore parts elsewhere, all of which takes the edge off life . Plus having to explain to everyone what happened is another pain.

Then the magic kicks in, despite everything. You become absorbed in the work. It comes out well. You don’t want to stop when it’s time to go and do something else. You do have the self-discipline to get down to the work despite yourself, but it helps knowing that it will always work.

That, I guess, is jobbing writing.

Veiled Dreams

I started reading the final proofs for this yesterday. I’m actually rather pleased with it, although here is the usual problem of wanting to alter last minute bits, and of course it’s actually too late for that.

I finished Veiled Dreams almost exactly a year ago. it was the project I took on after I’d completed my PhD, whilst I was waiting for the viva, and then afterwards.

And it is good. I’m even thinking that it is slightly better that the one I’m currently working on. That is a little disturbing. I suppose I should remember that I haven’t finished editing Spooked.

Both of these are young adult texts and they do contain some quite explicit details about sex. I feel this is a little daring, but I do get sick of it being glossed over in much of the material I read. So, I feel justified in including it, though worry about readers’ reaction, and perhaps more importantly, the reaction of those gate-keeping adults.

I think one of the reasons I like Veiled Dreams better is that I am more in love with Jan, the boyfriend of the main character, than I am with Tom, the main character in Spooked. We do get Jan’s point of view, and we are touched by how much he cares. However, most of the time we get Christina’s and we’re actually then drawn into loving Jan more because she keeps getting it wrong. She’s feisty and passionate, so we do like her too.

Tom? A good egg, generally, touchingly in love with Amanda. But de we get close enough to her? It’s perhaps something which will be more firmly there after I’ve completed all of the editing.

So, is this an alarming winding down or is it proof of the importance of editing?