I’m working on the first draft of a project on which I’ve been developing characters, researching, and worldbuilding for years. It’s slightly terrifying, as if this story-to-be is a huge shark all gullet and teeth, chomping mindlessly as I figure out how I can drag this fucker onto a chopping board and fillet it into something fit for consumption. But it’s not merely paring down information; it’s full on transformation. I can’t use bleeding shark bits; I need a well-oiled machine polished for maximum eye-catching potential. And somehow, this shark needs to feed that machine.
Luckily, the machine has pre-drawn plans. Unless you’re writing Finnegan’s Wake, most of these machines do. Plots as pistons, characters as crankshafts… you get the idea.
But still. I look at this mess and how much work is needed to turn it into what my plans promise, and my feelings can only be summed up as “exhilirifying.”
I know exactly what you mean. I have a project in a similar state – it’s a beautiful cacophony, but turning that into a novel? Yeah…exhilirifying is right!
Also, welcome back
Heh, thanks. The thought of making another “I’m back… again” post was too depressing, so I just jumped right in instead.