I think I should stop calling myself a writer and from now on refer to myself as a reviser.
Random Interested Stranger, “And what do you do?”
Me: “Oh, I’m revising my book.”
R.I.S.: “You’re a reviser? How nice.” With a knowing nod.
Me: Nodding too.
R.I.S.: “Has your book been published?”
Me: “Not yet, I am only in the first year of revising.”
Seriously, I have been working on this novel since late last year and I know now that it is quite possible it will never actually be done. I am not telling a neverending story where I just keep on adding to the word count. I am slashing, reworking, adding, and changing things. Isn’t it always possible to revise? Repeated. Incessant. Perfecting.
When is enough? I can’t be the only one whose manuscript is forever being tweaked, can I? When do you know that it is actually, finally, truly, really, done?
I had to get that off my chest, thank you for reading.
Back to revising…