It’s a funny thing this “editing”. It’s really a very different animal to the initial “writing” of the story. During that first go around, it was all about getting to know the characters and playing with the story. Basically, I embraced the idea that anything goes and ran with it, delighting in wherever it might lead me. Sure, I paid some attention to character consistency and I did try to shape and mold my plot but overall, I just had fun with it.
But now? Now I decide it’s time to roll up my sleeves and do the dirty work. Now, gosh darn it, the story has to actually make sense. Now instead of throwing some words together and calling it a story, I have to focus on choosing the right words. This is the point in time when writing starts to feel less like fun and more like work. By the end of it, I’m likely to be so sick of looking at the story that I don’t want to read another word of it. But I figure if I do this job well, all that effort will translate into producing a story that others will enjoy reading.
It’s only natural around this part of the process, as I focus on quality and what actually makes a good story, that I start to question my own ability to produce a story worthy of reading. Around this point, something in my brain clicks over to ‘examination’ mode. Everywhere I look, I’m trying to figure out what worked for another story or another author. How did they do that? I like to think that this is a good way to approach it, at least to an extent, because if I can find the answers then maybe I can apply the same logic to my own story and ultimately make it better.
But every once in a while, I’m only left feeling frustrated. Yesterday, I followed yet another link that someone had posted to yet another article on the recent phenomenon Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James. This time the link had been posted by a friend who is reading (and presumably loving) the novel. The last link I followed was posted by a writing blog I follow that had another spin on why the book is total crap, just like Twilight that inspired it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not here to judge. After all, I have yet to even read the thing so I don’t know whether I’d enjoy it or not. I don’t know how well we can justify all the claims for poor writing. Admittedly, I had been steering clear of it because of all the criticisms. But something struck me as I was watching a video of an interview with the author on one of the morning talk shows. She never claimed to be a very good writer. She never set out to win awards and make millions. This book started out as a hobby and even still… look what it’s become. She sold two million copies in a single month and just sold the movie rights.
So, how did she do that? If every critic says the book is total crap and potentially dangerous to women, then why are women clamoring to buy it? Why do so many love it? That’s when it struck me that maybe when I look at my own writing, I’m approaching it too much with the eyes of writer/critic and forgetting that all a reader truly wants is to be entertained. After all, all the links to “bad” Fifty Shades of Grey are posted by ‘writing experts’ while all the links to “good” Fifty Shades of Grey are posted by the people who just appreciate sitting down to unwind with a good story at the end of the day. Ever notice this?
During this age of information overload where I can be connected to as many sources of publisher and writer advice as I can possibly manage to absorb in a day, have I actually lost touch with my inner reader and stopped caring about telling the story I want to tell rather than trying to follow the rules that I feel are being imposed on me? Makes me wonder.
Day two of edits and I’ve decided to stop over-trying. Instead, I’m trying to infuse a little bit of the fun that went into writing the thing in the first place. I’m letting go of the ‘rules’ just enough that I can tell the story I want to tell but try to tell it in the best way I can. I’m not worrying about pleasing the critics. At the very least, I’m trying not to take myself so seriously that I lose touch of why I got into writing in the first place. Maybe just maybe, this is one of the best lessons I could have learned for the sake of my own stories?
Your thoughts?


