“Books aren’t written – they’re rewritten. Including your own. It is one of the hardest things to accept, especially after the seventh rewrite hasn’t quite done it.”
American director, producer, and screenwriter, Michael Crichton, was born on this day in 1942 (died 2008).
I have five completed novels. That’s right. Five.
I’m re-writing all five of them one at a time.
And that, my friends, is the main reason I will not be participating in Nanowrimo again this year.
Nanowrimo: National Novel Writing Month.
I’ve done it successfully several years (see the five books noted above) and not successfully for more years than that.
The other day I was chatting online with the young friend, and fellow author, who first introduced me to Nanowrimo some fourteen years ago. We were part of an eclectic group of Tolkien fans who met online in a conservative political forum.
We forged deep friendships that continue to this day. We’ve gathered in an “Entmoot” in Florida. Tolkien fans will understand. If you’re not a fan, just move to the next paragraph. We’ve attended each other’s weddings and significant life events. We’ve followed moves across the country, there and back again. We’ve grieved together. Argued together. And all this time later, we still like being a part of each other’s lives.
Most of us are now on Facebook having left said forum. A few have fallen out of contact not having made the leap over to Zuckerberg land.
We’ve also encouraged each other’s writing goals. We’ve shared drafts and concepts and challenges of writing.
And when I’m finally ready to have someone else, beyond my spouse, read one of my works, this will be the group I turn to first.
But, for now, I am re-writing.
That’s the thing about the Nanowrimo challenge. The goal is to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. There’s no time for editing or rewriting. So I turn to the pages of some of my work and say “that makes absolutely no sense.”
The truth is we will not only likely know the true fate of Jon Snow before my book(s) is(are) published, we may likely have a new season of Sherlock.
We won’t comment as to whether the fate of Jon Snow and Sherlock has any bearing on whether or not I’m working on the book.
You find your muse. I’ll find mine.
There won’t be any working on the novel this evening. I’m off to Williamsburg to lose my head.
Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street opens tonight.
I must go attend the tale.