leprechaun copyMy demon-editor’s sitting on my shoulder like it’s a bar stool in some noisy saloon.  He’s three sheets to the wind, kicking his heavy brogues against my skin, railing that I will never unravel what it is I’m trying to say.

I wanted to write a post about how to handle criticism, but every time I get a couple paragraphs written, a screechy little voice broke in with a fake Irish accent, “You know, girlie, most writers just sit down and write.  Their words jump up on the screen all by themselves,  each one of them in just the right order.  And words that bring tears to your eyes.  Most writers wring the heart and soul out o’ you without so much as changing a verb.”

My fingers froze.  Dang.  This little post was going to suck because words rarely jump up on the screen for me. 

When I get an inkling of an idea–an image, a feeling, a character, a situation–I make myself get through the first draft fast before that gnome wakes up and climbs to his perch near my ear.  I put my fingers on the keys and just go, not thinking about whether I’ve spelled everything right, if my sentences are killer, or if the ideas showing up are in the best order.  Thoughts about my character’s wants, fears, flaws will get woven in as they occur, setting too,  but I try to get what I know  about the story done quickly. 

BUT WAIT.

There’s that stupid gnome on my shoulder again–this is a blogpost, for Pete’s sake, you evil leprechaun.  His boot heels hammer my clavicle.  “Yo’ ve no idea what part of the body’s below the shoulder, now do ya? You’d better stop writing this t’ing and google the human anatomy.  And ah, look, while you’re at it, you better look up a few more t’ings.  Like how most people write them first drafts.”

 But I’m moving on.  Once I finish writing a first draft–what I call my “content” draft, I call on–

   “Who are you,” yelps the demon,  ” to be naming drafts?  The great and glorious masters of the pen ain’t going through this kind of shite, giving their drafts titles like that.  Yer making too big a deal about this process thing.  Ya just write, doncha now?” 

 Leave me alone, you demon-editor!  I’m trying to produce a post here and I’m already running late. 

I call my first draft a “content draft” so I can get through it.  If I think my first draft is my last draft, I will spend three weeks on the first two paragraphs.  I have to tell myself it’s okay to let the initial piece be filled with false direction, undeveloped characters, no plot, no heart.  Well, wait.  Usually the heart is there because the heart is the reason I’m writing this particular story in the first place.  So after the “heart” hits me, there’s those first words on paper, trying to draft the feeling that is insisting on being recorded.

“You’re wanderin’ again.  Explaining something no one gives a shite about.”

If I listen to the gnome, I’d fire up the shredder, so I flick him off my shoulder.  Keep my head down.  Write the next bit.  

When I get all the content down on paper, I want to know what is working and what isn’t so I send my rough draft off to one of my gentle, but honest readers.  For most writers, having a kind, but honest reader is one of the keys to success.  A good reader can shortcut a story’s journey from inkling to end.  Here’s what I ask my reader to tell me about my first draft.

  • Is it compelling?  (subject matter, style, character, setting?)
  • Do you feel emotion or the potential for emotion in the piece?
  • What did you like the most?
  • What didn’t you like? 

With the notes from the first-draft reader, I commit to the setting, the character, the event or events, and what what the story will be.  At this juncture, I begin to think about theme and structure and how to weave it all together. 

“You’re out of your mind.”  The demon-editor is back.  Climbing up my shoulder blade, digging in his toes.  “T’eme!  No writer worth his every-lovin’ salt is going to t’ink about t’eme.  It’s the kiss of death!” 

I pick the demon-gnome off my shoulder,  get up, and deposit him in the closet.  Lock it.

THE DEVELOPMENT DRAFT is how I think of this next step.   It’s at this point I make adjustments to strengthen the story structurally and thematically based on what’s emerged from the content draft.  For example, if the story is about a woman who faces the man who deserted her years before, the story seems to be about betrayal and forgiveness.  It’s at this point I start thinking about how the story should unfold , how best to reveal the characters’ attitudes when we first meet them and how to reflect the change in them by the end of the story, whether that change is big or small.  I look for the illogicals and try and enhance what I’ve learned about what it is I’m trying to say.  Then I turn it over to a reader, maybe the same reader, or maybe a different one.  Here’s what I ask now.

  • Are the characters clear?  Do you know who they are and what theywant?
  • Is there enough background so you can understand the why of what’s happening?
  • Are there any false notes?
  • Is what I give the reader in the first part of the story enough to make the ending feel “right,” or rather, to give them a feeling “oh, yeah.”

“OH YEAH?” the gnome again.   He’s busted out of the closet, stomping across the floor.  ”What the hell are you talking about?  Do you even know, girlie, what you’re trying to accomplish here?  It’s supposed to be magic.  You’re overthinking it.”

I tackle him to the floor and put him outside with the dog.

But I have to overthink sometimes.  Occasionally, rarely, perhaps all of my story comes out almost exactly right the first time as with “Losing Ground.”  That story flowed, drafts one and two coming at the same time, twins.  But most stories require me to consider the elements of craft separately.  Some times there’s easy magic, and sometimes there’s hard.

And with my gentle reader’s notes, I go through what I call my LANGUAGE DRAFT.  Finally, I focus on the words I’ve used through out my piece.  Voice is my first concern.  I want to make certain it is consistent.  I look at cutting as many words out of the piece as I can which means going over every sentence.  I look to make my details precise, my verbs active and accurate.  Then once again I hand it over to a reader. 

  • Are the words I’ve chosen the right words?
  • Is there a rhythm that makes you want to keep reading?
  • Are there any typos, misspellings, extra-spaces, etc.?
  • Does it work for you?

When I finish incorporating the reader’s notes, the demon-gnome shows up a little miffed and smelling of dog.  “That damn mutt of yours is a belly-rub junkie.  Me arm is having a fit.  Is it my turn yet?

And it is.  I let my harshest critic have his day and I usually take every suggestion he makes.