You’re a writer, you know how it goes. You spend so much of your heart and soul and sleepy long hours into your rewrite, and then, IT’S DONE!
About 30 years ago I totally shattered my left elbow – bango. The surgeon told me I’d brought him a bag of parts and he rebuilt me an elbow – albeit one that works a little wonky. With Covid, one of the issues is that it can attack your nerves, and, wouldn’t you know that now, four months after having gotten over it, my left pinky finger has gone numb. It has to be Covid, because that’s an old injury and a weak… what am I GOING on ABOUT?
So, the problem is this: nowadays, every time I PRESS the SHIFT key, my stupid finger presses CAPS LOCK instead, and… It’s so annnoYING!
Anyway, I chopped out the parts of my novel “WIN….GRRRR… “Winchester Penrose”, that weighed down the story. It cost me about 7,000 words, but tonight, here at 11:32 PM, while my family slumbers away, I finished the rewrite.
HOOR…hooray for me! Yaay!
Weirdly, you’re the only one I can tell. It’s a quiet world out there. SO, tag, you’re it!
It’s actually the rewrite of my novel “Droppington Place” (better click the link and download that original sucker while you can. It’s not all that great, but has some terrific scenes. AND, when I become the next JK Rowling or JD Salinger – hey, it could happen – you will have a collector’s edition worth a BAJILLION BUCKS!).
The original story follows the dystopic adventure of a middle-school kid who gets trapped in the paper world of a sawdust man who was invented to murder William Shakespeare. What? Oh, I know…
In this version, we explore the story of the sawdust man himself, and of the magical tome from which he was drawn. The kid, who was originally 12 years old, got dropped back to 10, and now is boosted up to 17 years old, and is a tagalong sidekick, woe-begotten high schooler kid with problems of his own.
New characters, new story, new, totally NEW NEW NEW! And now the rewrite is done!
Alas. It’s only 47,000 words. Not enough for a novel.
Well, thanks for celebrating with me. It’s a quarter of twelve before Father’s Day – big whoop – and my rewrite is done.
IS IT…GRRRR… Is it too late for champagne?