Yesterday, I sat on the floor in our "school room" (actually a little cubby on the second floor behind the master bedroom) waiting for DD to take her math speed drills. And I noticed something:
Underneathe the heating vents (we have hot water heat -- and so have those awful things all along the base of the walls... I hate 'em) it was BLACK with dog hair. I vacuum just about daily -- I have to because the dog sheds worse than I do (which is saying something), but apparently never got down on my hands and knees to notice the hidden spots I missed.
I promptly got the vacuum and cleaned it up and then made a promise to myself --- to never sit on the floor again!
As I thought about writing this on my blog, I wondered if I could apply the idea to writing. So bear with me as I struggle through, since I am not very good with metaphors (remember that blog I wrote on symbolism?).
I'm focused on editing right now and am determined to get something, anything, ready to submit by summer. I've gone through about 2/3 of Liv Leigh and focused on the basics (but have most assuredly missed all the @#*&^% passive voice that's there): grammar, weeding out the stupid stuff that is out of character, trying to shore up the weak points in the plot.
That's my daily vacuuming. I'm not moving the furniture or looking under the heating vents.
During the second edit, after gathering feedback on the first one from a few trusted crit partners, I will hunker down for the hard stuff. I will "sit on the floor". I'll peek under the furniture and the heater and the bed. I will make sure every last bit of that novel is clean.
And then I'll invite the company over... er... send out my queries.
But first, I have to hunker down. And sit on the floor. Even if it's a little painful and makes my bum sore.
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