I hate editing. I have failed every goal I’ve ever set when editing. I stumble in the same spot every time.
It’s not killing my darlings. Whatever, kill those bastards. I never liked them anyway. (Oh my god that’s such a lie, please, come back, babies.) I like going through the novel and finding the things that worked. I like those moments when you realize, “Wow, this is a legitimate novel,” and the moments where you throw the manuscript across the room and scream, “I WILL NEVER WRITE AGAIN.”
Here’s my process. 1. Print out the novel. I can’t edit at a computer very well, unless it’s something short — i.e. blog spot, and even those tend to be riddled with typos and grammatical errors. As I understand it, this is standard. Most people can’t process errors on a screen.
2. Ignore the novel for about two weeks to six months. Hey, can’t argue with the process man. But seriously. Sometimes I start out with enthusiasm, and then promptly degenerate into a spiral of Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, and Television. If I’m lucky, I’ll start working on something else.
3. Edit on paper in a frenzy for about two weeks to six months. This is just how it is. I enjoy this part. I’ll be struck with excitement, and it’ll happen. I’ll reach the end. I’ll be awash with satisfaction and accomplishment. Look at me! I just editing this novel! I am a champion!
4. Ignore it forever. I hatehatehateHATE typing edits into the computer. I hate everything about the process. It’s uncomfortable, and I feel like I’m repeating myself, and at this point I usually swear that next time I’m doing all my editing on the computer. (Spoilers: I never will.)
5. Realize it’s been a year and re-dedicate myself to the novel. I will usually sit down with my husband, and we walk about how reasonable my plan is. I’ll set a date, and usually — because I tend to write short novels — it’s only a couple pages per day.
6. Reunite with all my friends on Tumblr.
7. Drink heavily. Alcohol. Coffee. Coffee spiked with alcohol.
8. Dive headfirst into the novel. I spend something like two or four weeks dedicated to finishing this fucking novel. I hate this novel. I hate myself. I hate everything I stand for as a writer. I suck at this.
And then I hit the end of the novel, thrilled. I give it to one beta reader. Promise to give it to many more, but panic. Move on to something else. Keep promising to send that off. Panic some more.
There’s a reason that I’m just now at the beta reader stage of my 2010 NaNoWriMo novel, and there’s a reason my first novel is sitting untouched after finishing the on-paper edits. Writing is fun. Editing is even interesting, but when it comes to actual completion of a novel, I pretty much fall apart.
Man. I hate editing.
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