I’m racing through my last sweep before test-readers.
10 out of 39 sections done and a morning of work available tomorrow (kids invited to play at a house where I then get to hide out in the office and work with the kids nearby and happy. Best of both worlds).
I’ve dropped the prologue and still have to get to the section of story where Garm (the main character’s dog) disappears. That is, There’s this dog present until about scene 17, and never mentioned again. So this sweep is fixing that.
I’m strategizing how to do that without jacking my word count. Have some reasonable ideas.
And I’m making my reader/editing question lists, noting frequently-used words (so someone else can tell me if they think the words are used to much– I’ve reached the point where I don’t trust my judgment on them any more), and asking about levels of description.
That has consistently been my Achilles’ Heel: description.
So I’m down to 105,500 now, and until I finish this sweep I won’t know how much of that I’ll cut. I might leave it all for now, though I feel sorry for the testers. (It’s a good thing you already love me. Remember you volunteered for this.)
I think it’s going to be good, but I’m being reminded that no realized art ever matches completely the imagined hope that instigated the work.
LOL!! Bring it! I’m ready!
“I think it’s going to be good, but I’m being reminded that no realized art ever matches completely the imagined hope that instigated the work.”
Fascinating thought there. I’m reminded of how many times I would play an original work in and orchestra with the composer there conducting. It was such a weird experience to have someone trying to mold us into what was in their head.
The other fascinating thing about this comment is that even if what you wrote was perfectly what was in your head, we, as different human beings, will come away with something different, if even only slightly, than what was in your head.
I love humanity!