Revision

I like the word revision. Re+vision. Having a vision again. Lately, I've been revising some of my writing, revising other folks' writing, and revising myself a bit.

I've done a bit of revision on the YA novel that I started a while back (and haven't finished yet). I'm only eleven chapters in, but I like to get the beginning right before I write more. So I revisited what I'd written, cut a few things, and rewrote a bit. During the last few months, most of that novel's writing has been in my head. I replay scenes over and over, trying different twists. But I had no desire to put these scenes into the computer. The other day, I realized why.

Most of the novel takes place in the fall. I need the feel of fall before I can write what happens. I need the colors, the sound of walking through the woods, the blowing leaves, the crisp air. All this is new to me. For other writings, I haven't needed to be in the setting; I haven't need this vision.

Lately, I critiqued—and cut—a fellow Lake Writer's essay that was originally eleven pages. He had some good material, but it was hidden in three times as many words as he needed. After I cut, he cut some more. He read his revision at the Lake Writers meeting last Friday; everyone really liked how he's cut to the essence of his essay.

Today, a bit of me was revised—or at least cut. I had surgery for two ingrown toenails, and—even though I can't get shoes on yet—I'm feeling better already.

My experience at Franklin Memorial this morning was not unlike a manuscript's revision: several Beta readers (nurses) looked over what needed to be done, another person with more advanced skills (anesthesiologist) was called in to start the editorial process, and finally the editor (podiatrist) started the cutting. After my revisions were done, I awoke better than I had originally been.

Now I'm envisioning a walk in the woods.

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