Wednesday, April 9, 2014. 6:15 AM.
“Hey duuude! How’s the writing?” ––Friend via Facebook
“Hey man! Writing is going…ok.” ––Me via Facebook
Wednesday, February 26, 2014. 2:00 PM.
“You have set up what will be a really good Young Adult story here . . . but it’s not ready to send out. . . . The voice just isn’t working. You need to rewrite your book. Not edit. Rewrite.” ––Paraphrase of my MFA Thesis Advisor
Wednesday, April 9, 2014. 9:00 AM.
I always imagine me picking up a chair and throwing it through a window. Or bashing my old wooden Army Wall Locker with a baseball bat. But, being a responsible adult, I do neither.
My Kindergarten teacher told my mother that I had a problem with my temper. I think I finally found ways to deal with my temper in High School. Not in 9th grade when I ripped in half a failed assignment in my teacher’s face. So maybe 10th grade? Since then, I have found ways to pack up my anger into a compression bag and vacuum seal it inside me. I think that’s why I have a tremor in my right hand.
When I sat in my thesis advisor’s office and she ripped my heart in half in front of my face, I tried my best to imagine my chair and my bat, and not let my anger and disappointment show. “Okay,” is about all I could manage to say.
Two years. Dissipating. Burning off like a morning fog in the rising sun. Two years, 65,000+ words, a complete rewrite of the first 80 pages, multiple edits, and a final tally of 271 pages turned into just another document in my computer’s folder titled “Chase’s Writings”.
Now I have another document – “Complete Rewrite”. It took me a complete week of mourning my loss before I stared at another blank page. Now, six weeks later, I have 73 pages and 17,615 words of . . . .
Yes, joy. As much as I hated giving up my firstborn, this new draft has been a blast to write. I have finally found my voice, which was confirmed during a second meeting with my thesis advisor where I was fully prepared for the consequences of throwing her through the window. Thankfully, for both parties, it didn’t come to that.
Now, I won’t lie – the plot is kind of lacking. But I can fix that. This rewrite is just another draft. I could pump out another 271 pages and figure out I need to rewrite again. Would that suck? Yes. Especially since my end goal is publication, and a rewrite would mean another postponement of that dream.
But I want to remember today. I want to remember the past six weeks. I want to remember that this process is actually enjoyable. Because I am a writer. And, just with anybody in any profession, a writer should enjoy what they do.
Friday, July 1, 2005. 7:00 PM
“Write your heart out.” ––My wife, upon giving me a journal as a wedding present.
^Christmas present from my wife.