Writing another draft of a previously written book is no easy task. It may be less work than building up three hundred pages from a blank computer screen, but to get a more clearly defined vision of your story out in the open so it looks like more than just a vague image behind fogged glass can be as daunting as anything.
As the drafts go on, there are always the questions, those little nagging worries one has while lingering over your prose. You wonder if a character’s actions make any sense, but are in a bind because the characters need to go to a certain place for the story to function. So you strong arm them and force them to go wherever you need.
That’s just one example of the questions, and with any book, there are many. They always keep you coming with the mallet and chisel over and over again.
How many questions do I have with this draft?
I cannot begin to tell you all how good that feels. I went through each one of my complaints point by point, searching for ways to fix them, and in finding those solutions, the creative floodgates were open. The glass was un-fogged, the story became clear, and I finally knew this was the last one.
For real this time, I swear.
I think in accepting I never would get 100% of the story I wanted was what freed me. I accepted that perfection was out of reach, but still wondered how close I can get. As it stands now, the story is at least a 90. I seldom sit in front of the keyboard with no ideas, because they continue to bounce around the old noggin, begging to be released in letters.
How I feel about this draft? I think I’m in love.