Our Vermont ground is covered in snow, the air is moist with drifting drizzle, and after an hour and a half of practicing Yang Cane form, my mind is focusing back on my morning’s writing session (yes, EVERYTHING is recursive).
The novel I’m working on, “Her Last Cookbook,” currently has 18 chapters each of which has been revised a few times. Now it’s time to put them back together into a complete manuscript, adding more sensory details, clearing up the time line, making sure that the characters are consistently themselves, even as they waiver in their intentions or decisions. This process is fun but so demanding and requires such attention that I can only proceed for an hour or two and then my mind empties.
It’s difficult not to be too self-critical, but at the same time, I have to be somewhat tough on myself. “Come on, Anne,” I say, “you know that can be more vivid.” At another point the voice in my head asks, “Is that really how she’d say that” or “Wouldn’t he take offense at what she just said”?
So then it’s time to back up a little, try again, revise, and finally, end that session, trusting that the next day will bring insight and improvements. Just like tai chi–we revise, improve, alter, ask for other’s suggestions, revise, try, try again and hope that the whole thing will eventually flow together.
