I like rewrites and edits and that whole process. I enjoy the refining and fixing. Lisa, who has done a lot of a my draft editing and has not only found my stupid grammatical mistakes, but also has made some astute, keen observations about story and plot. She's taken a hard look–actually a couple of hard looks–at a draft of a fiction work entitled NIGHT RADIO. As usual, she's pointed out some matters that need my attention. And that's what has consumed me over the last couple of weeks. Thanks, Lisa. No, really, thanks.
The reason I bring this up is to celebrate the process. If you write–any kind of writing–learn to enjoy this part of the work; the fixing, cleaning-up, the readjustments. This is where the work really starts to come alive. Think of it as waxing after you've done the hard work of washing the car. As you move your soft cloth over the car's finish in smooth circular motions, the shine begins to emerge, the true beauty of the automobile's exterior comes alive. This is what you are doing with your story–giving it shine, luster. This is not work, this is the remarkable last steps before you release your baby–your story–into the world. Don't rush it. Don't curse it. Take the time to savor this, embrace your words and massage their meaning.
If you write, this process is inevitable. Don't dread it. Instead, give it a big hug.
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