Member-only story
The Hard Part of Writing
Reading Your Own Book
I am sitting on thousands and thousands, tens of thousands of words. I crafted my story and heroine and dramatic arc and epic conclusion. I placed that last period after that last word of that last sentence. I put it there, closed the story, gave myself a grin in smug satisfaction, and sat back as I imagined patting myself on my back. There, I did it. I wrote a lot of words.
And what now? Now, I want to have a burger and milkshake, with that half-smile still plastered across my face, and start looking at expensive cabin retreats on 50 acres of farmland. Because we’re rich now, right? Cause I wrote a book?
But, before I start that, I need to undertake a complicated phase of writing.
I need to read what I wrote.
It would be so much easier if I could distance myself from that. Close my eyes and just push it onto someone else’s desk. Maybe someone else who doesn’t have a kid sitting five feet away asking for help with their magnets-in-oatmeal experiment. But there in the cheap seats sits the world’s best editor for this extraordinary story: me.
It is my job and mine alone. I can’t expect anyone else to read through this assembled jumble and “fix it.” I have to go all the way back, past all those words and punctuation points and clever turns…
