R. R. Hunter
Troubadour
No, really, when should I stop?
As soon as the maintenance team finishes applying a new coat of paint to the Golden Gate Bridge, it's already time to add new paint to the other side again.
If you do a thing a lot, you are going to get better at it. I've noticed a gradient from bad to good writing from the beginning to the end of my current manuscript. Not perfect, but improved. I've already made several editing passes and keep finding new ways to apply polish. I remember a time when I thought my final chapters were the bees' knees and the coolest things ever. Then, I made the mistake of adding one, little, extra chapter. Like a little epilogue. It looks like night and day when I read through the last chapter and then the epilogue. Ugh!
When is enough going to be enough?! I feel like I'm caught up in a never-ending cycle of improving my edits.
Just for fun, I wanted to share a paragraph of what I wrote from a chapter one "draft" six months ago followed by a paragraph from the epilogue I wrote just last week:
----Bad Writing----
Daerion decided it would be a good idea to rub his ear, but his arm wouldn’t move. No. It was moving but he could not move it as fast as he wished. The pain was excruciating and he just wanted it to stop. He thought about ripping his ear completely off just to end the pounding, but that didn’t make his hand move any faster. Was there someone on top of him? He could see some traces of light in his peripherals but couldn’t seem to turn his head. There was only blackness above him; a great, empty nothingness. Whatever it was on top of him, it was apparently squeezing his throat. Daerion wanted to kick the thing off, but his legs were definitely pinned to the ground. His arm however, was still moving towards his ear, slowly but surely.
----Better Writing----
The kitchens seemed like the only place unaffected by the staffing cuts. After all, everyone needed to eat. Slipping into the busy kitchen unnoticed was the easy part; staying unnoticed was the truer challenge. Joell pulled an empty tray from its rack and carried it between the other ladies busy at their stations preparing the evening's meals. She approached the counter closest to the grand oven and set down the tray. Without hesitation, Joell moved loaves of bread from the warming racks into ovoid, cloth-covered baskets before sorting them onto her tray. Four loaves to a basket, alternating which end protruded. The trick was simple: She needed to look like she belonged there. Though the application was not so simple, she actually had to know how to belong there. Just like when applying her powers, she needed to understand how it all worked.
As soon as the maintenance team finishes applying a new coat of paint to the Golden Gate Bridge, it's already time to add new paint to the other side again.
If you do a thing a lot, you are going to get better at it. I've noticed a gradient from bad to good writing from the beginning to the end of my current manuscript. Not perfect, but improved. I've already made several editing passes and keep finding new ways to apply polish. I remember a time when I thought my final chapters were the bees' knees and the coolest things ever. Then, I made the mistake of adding one, little, extra chapter. Like a little epilogue. It looks like night and day when I read through the last chapter and then the epilogue. Ugh!
When is enough going to be enough?! I feel like I'm caught up in a never-ending cycle of improving my edits.
Just for fun, I wanted to share a paragraph of what I wrote from a chapter one "draft" six months ago followed by a paragraph from the epilogue I wrote just last week:
----Bad Writing----
Daerion decided it would be a good idea to rub his ear, but his arm wouldn’t move. No. It was moving but he could not move it as fast as he wished. The pain was excruciating and he just wanted it to stop. He thought about ripping his ear completely off just to end the pounding, but that didn’t make his hand move any faster. Was there someone on top of him? He could see some traces of light in his peripherals but couldn’t seem to turn his head. There was only blackness above him; a great, empty nothingness. Whatever it was on top of him, it was apparently squeezing his throat. Daerion wanted to kick the thing off, but his legs were definitely pinned to the ground. His arm however, was still moving towards his ear, slowly but surely.
----Better Writing----
The kitchens seemed like the only place unaffected by the staffing cuts. After all, everyone needed to eat. Slipping into the busy kitchen unnoticed was the easy part; staying unnoticed was the truer challenge. Joell pulled an empty tray from its rack and carried it between the other ladies busy at their stations preparing the evening's meals. She approached the counter closest to the grand oven and set down the tray. Without hesitation, Joell moved loaves of bread from the warming racks into ovoid, cloth-covered baskets before sorting them onto her tray. Four loaves to a basket, alternating which end protruded. The trick was simple: She needed to look like she belonged there. Though the application was not so simple, she actually had to know how to belong there. Just like when applying her powers, she needed to understand how it all worked.