Sunday, November 20, 2005

Today I murdered, but nobody died.

Today I gagged people, but they were free to speak.

Today I rearranged the landscape, the houses and the furniture, but nobody would know the difference.

Today I put people in their place, and they were better for it.

Today I brutally carved away identities, destoryed meaning and upended situations, and yet it was as if I never touched a thing.

How? why?

I am revising my novel.

And I tell you people, now that I'm past the pride, the fear, the anxiety, I am having a great time.

Revising, after all, is the real writing.

But oh what it takes to get here!


At 12:20 PM, Blogger Joy said...

Woo! Glad you're finally digging into it!


At 3:25 PM, Blogger Jordan E. Rosenfeld said...

Thanks. Me too!

At 8:52 PM, Blogger Patry Francis said...

Though I know a lot of writers hate it, I love revising, too. You've already done the hard work of building the house; now you're looking at it from the inside, trying out paint colors, checking to make sure your everything is structurally sound.


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