“Rewrite
it!” the brow-beating editor in my head demanded.
I balked and
argued, “It’s OK as it is.”
“You’re in
denial,” the same angry voice retorted, as it does every time we have an
argument over my creativity.
My shoulders
sagged. I didn’t want to hear this. When I’d sent the 7th draft of
the second novel in my “Sacred Bundle Series” to three readers, I had held full
confidence that this was it. I had crossed all my T’s and dotted all my I’s.
However, the precious sentences had fallen short of their mark.
“I didn’t
care about the characters or the story until page 56, and then I was hooked. If
I didn’t know you and like you, I would never have continued reading the story.”
I certainly
did not care for that critique. I wondered how on earth had this book gotten
through two other reading panels without anyone telling me it was boring? Or
that they didn’t understand the first page. THE FIRST PAGE, for God’s sake. I
had to face the fact something was wrong, but I had no idea two weeks ago what
it was.
The first
draft of the The Spirit Bundle(TSB)has been finished since 2007. Between working on
the nine drafts of The Marriage Bundle (TMB), I have been crafting the second one.
But, a lot has happened since then. I have to admit I pushed the publishing of
TMB. That story had needed more work, but I wanted something of my own creativity
out in the world right after my husband passed away.
Now I was
facing a huge dilemma. Did I ignore the suggestions of three well-meaning
friends who had labored for a month or more over the second creation? So I took
it to one other person, just one page, the first one, and asked him what he
thought. He didn’t pull any punches either, but he had a few specific
suggestions. Then I saw it.
I was
writing with my head. The work was fashioned from a formula and the expressions
were trite. I wondered, “When had my writing voice changed?”
Reviewing
the events of my life, I remembered what had been happening since 2007 when I’d
finished that first draft. Many changes. Many losses. Too many to keep my heart
open and survive the pain of losing all those I loved, losing the community to
which my husband and I had belonged. I’d been guided to sell my hand-built home
on 40 acres and, after 33 years of living off the grid and in the woods, I tried to survive in someone’s back bedroom for a year.
Now I am settled
in my own little bungalow and living a life where I am expanding my social
circle and embracing meaningful work.
During the
week of all these questions, I attended several local events which added to the
pressure of rethinking how I was approaching my writing, as well as my life.
I saw “Etty”,
a one woman, one act play, presenting the journal writings of a 27 year-old
Jewess who lived in Amsterdam between 1939 and 1941. This is before she is
transported by cattle car to Auschwitz. Despite the terror and anger, she holds
forth with love for those who are destroying her way of life. I cried that
night for many reasons.
The next
evening I sat with six other women around a circle of six men who were willing
to voice their concerns and challenges about growing older and old. It was a
circle of intimacy that broke down another door to my feelings and offered me a
way to view people with a different level of compassion. I spent another night
of tears.
Then there
was the foot-stomping joy of the Celtic band where I felt so much a part of the
Willits community. On Saturday, I
experienced the profound entertainment and increased understanding brought by
watching the Museum Road Show. This event
chronicled the writings and stories of individuals who had helped to develop
Mendocino County. There were stories from an older local Native man through the
eyes of his granddaughter, a woman setting off from Iowa with their loaded wagon
train plus livestock. She and her family arrived in Potter Valley with only the
clothes on their backs. The story of Black Bart came alive in song and dance.
The actors showed how the Civil War had been fought here in California. There
was so much more in those stories of that evening’s entertainment. Everything I
experienced that week was filled with authenticity and feeling.
Somewhere in
the middle of all these shows, I found the courage to look at my own work
again. Without the blinders on, I saw where I had forgotten to give my main
characters their hearts.
I rewrote
the first page and handed it to my harshest critic. He read it and grinned from
ear to ear. “You nailed it. You hooked me.”
Now I can do the eighth edit of The Spirit Bundle with much more confidence and enthusiasm. Now I feel my heart is back on line.
