I still struggle with the the virtue of patience and have for most of my life. However now I can wait for for my birthday in fact I wouldn't mind if they just stopped for a bit but that's another matter!
What I'm impatient for at the moment is to move forward in my revisions. I feel like I've been working on these opening chapters for ages and, well, I have and they have improved and grown. I know my main characters far better than i did a month ago. BUT I am itching to get working with the stuff I have written already - the bulk of the novel. I want to see see it take shape.
For the past few days I have been - blocked for a lack of a better word. I didn't stop working - I kept tightening and doing character exercises but what i wanted to was finish chapter three. I had written the first half of the chapter set in Barcelona and I needed a new scene with Victoria. I knew what I wanted the scene to accomplish and where it was set. I even knew who else was in it. You may think I should always know these things, but most of the time I don't - especially in a first draft. Yet this time I had it all even the time of day in my head. What I didn't have were the words. I don't actually believe in writer's block as such, but I do believe that when the words won't arrive something isn't right.
So here I am raring to move forward - I can see the way (even have a map of sorts - you know that dirty thing called a working synopsis which is a new experience for me on a second draft) and I'm stalled. Finally on the train back from Oxford today it hit me. I'm rushing. I'm desperate to reach key parts and I need to write more at the beginning. I just want to plunge in, but none of what happens after will have any real impact or even make sense unless I give the reader more time time to know the characters....I need to work on my virtues...
In the meantime I thought I'd put up the first paragraph and show you my tweaking. Here's version one:
The Toronto air was heavy with yet to fall rain. Demi could taste it as she took a deep breath. The new leaves on the trees glowed lime in the flat light. She paused and looked at the familiar houses on the street she had called home for so long. All was stillness; no kids on bikes, no game of kickball and no shouts of hide and seek. Nothing. She bit her tongue as the words ‘come out, come out wherever you are.’ hovered until a sudden breeze teased the leaves into motion. Only a thunderstorm would clear the atmosphere.
And here's the latest -
Demi stopped walking and looked at the familiar houses on the Toronto street that had been her home for twenty years. All was stillness; no kids on bikes, no game of kickball and no shouts of hide and seek. Nothing. She bit her tongue as the words ‘come out, come out wherever you are’ hovered until a sudden breeze teased the new leaves on the trees into motion. The air was heavy with yet to fall rain. She could taste it as she took a deep breath. Only a storm would clear the atmosphere.
