<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d10224091\x26blogName\x3dMel\x27s+Procrastination+Palace\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLUE\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://melaniblazer.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://melaniblazer.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d9183622196452718263', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>
Mel's Procrastination Palace
Monday, January 31, 2005 Pushhhhhhhhhhhhh

Quite different from the memory of the delivery room and the doctor was telling me NOT to push yet...

Now it's not a doctor, but my editor. I'm being coached by my longtime writer friend and CP. What I'm trying to give birth to here is a emotional, quick paced,interest grabbing story. (And as I write this I'm thinking WHOA, wait a minute, who's the father? All this time I thought my muse was female....)

In a weird sort of way, writing these stories *is* alot like having children. While that muse jumping on my bed event the other morning had little resemblence to the delightul activities that lead to pregnancy, there still is a certain magical quality behind it.

Think about it...how many of us are proud of our first borns, even if they are flawed (and kept in a box under the bed like a unfit-for-society caged animal)...? (bad mom!) and is it not ironic that we CALL them our first-borns?

I couldn't imagine going through this alone. The morning sickness stage is pretty damn close to those first thoughts of... is my plot strong enough to keep the story going? Do I have enough motivation for the characters to act on? Is the heroine to reactive or the hero a wimp? Will my ending be too contrived? --One has to have a friend hold your hair (okay, bad visual).... how about listen to your rants and stick with you despite emotional highs and lows that turn you from a crybaby to the devil reincarnate...

But soon, that passes, and then there's that confirmation--that feather light hint of life that restores the author's faith in her work. But at the same time, there's a weight to bear, a responsibility now that becomes much clearer--stay true to characterization, stay on track with motivations and conflict so that resolution is complete. From here on out it's truly a labor of love. Thank God you've got those friends to help you up off the couch or into the car (or to tie your shoes when you can't even see them). And to get you that third bowl of banana berry ice cream with caramel sauce.

Labor pains= editing, at least for me. While there's the glory that tells you without a doubt the end is near, you're damn near wits-end begging for mercy. That's when that support team is most important. They seem to be able to see things more clearly, to hold your hand and promise that it'll be worth it. And then, you have it. The finished manuscript.

And I lied in that first sentence. I'm really at the first part, the almost to the morning sickness "am I out of my mind thinking this story will work?" point. There's a long way to go.

Ugh. Maybe I should have adopted...


Posted by Melani Blazer :: 10:05 AM :: 3 comments

Post / Read Comments