I first read 'Tale of Two Cities' when I was in Grade 7 and it inspired me to believe I could also write. I had always told stories -- some outright lies, some tales from my imagination. It seemed like a good idea to write them down for others to enjoy. My school teachers encouraged me with good marks, praise, and special writing projects. Little did they know the writing life I desired was fraught with such wonderful elation and such deep depression.
I began my career with a pencil and pad of foolscap. Just the name of the paper should have alerted me to the game I had chosen to play. Any fool can write; it takes an educated fool to write well. I honed my skills through years of scribbling stories and poems on scraps of paper. Finally, I taught myself to compose at a typewriter. Computers freed me to take risks with my prose and to actually edit rigorously.
Writing for me has always been about the best of times and the worst of times. I love the excitement of a new project, the researching of ideas, the developing of characters, the flow of dialogue, and the burst of description that comes to one in a flash. But, when the story is done, I must switch gears and become analytical, scientific even. Gone are the long sentences that would have made Dickens proud. Gone is the flowery language. Gone are the repetitions and the words that one loves to use.
Why can't 'undulate' appear where ever I wish?
Right now, I'm in the middle of editing a book I wrote years ago as a trilogy. I'm determined that the first book of the series stands alone. It is called the Quest of Balthasar and is a fantasy/science fiction novel for young adults. I will share my trials and tribulations of the editing process in this blog. It might also help me sort out what really matters and what is just fluff.
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