Gretchen Jones

Every now and then I’ll write some sentence that I know is telling when I should be showing.

Sure enough, after I submit it to critique I’ll get some comment on that sentence.

So I fix that chapter, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to fix the sentence that I know needs revision.

I’ll edit the chapter, maybe rewrite the whole darn thing and when I’m done, I’ve still got this damned sentence staring back at me.

“No,  not a thing.” I remembered my disappointment.

What is it that keeps me from splitting the viscera of that line open and letting the bloody guts of the matter spill out onto the page?

Are those fragmented telling sentences coming out when I don’t like where the scene is going?  Where the book is going?

Or there is some uncomfortable truth about my writing staring me in the face that I still can’t see?   That’s really the one that worries me.

Still, I charge forward with this manuscript, damning the torpedoes of my own making knowing that it’s not there yet.   I struggle to come to terms with the reality I have put on the page, and that even when it’s done it will still be unfinished.

Anybody got whiteout you could lend me?

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Happy Birthday Sunny.

Happy Birthday

This entry was posted on Saturday, November 7th, 2009 at 12:17 pm and is filed under Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.