I thought last night was going to be a complete bust for writing. I thought I was going to crash and burn, or at the least sink into my comfy chair and doze off.
How wrong was I.
Maybe it was the pot of coffee I had at lunch that finally woke me up, but I had a light dinner, one where I had to hydrate before eating, and after an hour, I fired up Scrivener, pulled up Her Demonic Majesty, and got to work.
I read the first chapter, really read it this time. It was good, but I found an error right off the bat. And then another. And a few more. It wasn’t that it was bad, but when I found a few errors, I wondered if that was why the story was rejected. Come off looking like an idiot in the first couple of paragraphs, you don’t give the editor a reason to go on.
Chapter One was about 3,300 words, and I probably re-edited a dozen lines, removed words that made no sense, and felt pretty good when I got to the end. But it was only 8:30, and to quit now would be the same as saying, “I don’t really care.” I have twenty-four chapters to edit, some small, some big, some very big. The plan is to finish by the 26 September, then put my package together, and have it ready to submit Monday morning, 1 October.
It’s my plan, and it’s a good one. Tonight I’ll get Chapters Two and Three out of the way, then worry about Five, Six, and Seven tomorrow. Scrivener gives me the ability to jump around chapters, so maybe Thursday I’ll get a few of the smaller ones–the ones that are less than two thousand words–out of the way, so Saturday and Sunday I can work on a few of the bigger ones.
It’s a plan, and it’s going to be a very fast moving. I might not finish until next Saturday, but I’ll get this sucker polished and looking very pretty. And get my package together . . . and hope for the best.
I’ve already stated that this is a very big deal. There are more than a few writers scrambling their butts off to dust off an old manuscript, start marking the hell out of it, writing up new material, and basically working their butts off to get something they feel is going to give them a chance at a golden ticket to the Publishing Factory–where, we hope, some crazy guy isn’t going to take us on a boat ride consisting of nightmare fuel.
It’s sort of like Mini NaNoWriMo, with lots and lots of words getting written, only this time there’s an eye on polish and keeping things coherent. Not a lot of time to write, edit, look again, polish . . . at best, you have a month before the gates slam shut for another decade.
Me . . . I’m good with my plan. I’m gonna be busy, but I’m in a doable window. It will happen. I can get over the wall, and be one of the first to fling their story at Harper Voyager.
Then I wait. And write.
And keep looking for that golden ticket.