Friday, June 24, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
In fact, although I’m 30 years old and I’ve managed to make a living as a writer, to this day it is my mother’s greatest wish for me that I “go back to school and learn a trade.” Yes, my mom wants me to be a plumber. Please understand, I am not dismissing this trade or any other. It is highly skilled and well-paying work. But a plumber I am not.
This being the case, every six months or so, when she throws plumbing into the conversation, I feel the need to remind my mom that writing is a real job, too. And that, as a matter of fact, the two careers have much in common. So, when my mom figures out how to use the web cam on her computer, here is the poster I will show her the next time trade school comes up.
(For those of you who check it out, I have no idea why some of the letters near the Atwood photo have disappeared. Guess I should have gone to design school, too.)
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
I’ve been so hot and heavy with TV writing lately, that I completely forgot to blog about the freelancer! You know, the editor I hired to look at my manuscript? Well, we met up over a month ago and here’s what went down.
She liked it, mostly. Although she didn’t get it, mostly. At least until the end. She said I need to drop more hints throughout about what’s to come, about what’s the point. She said I need to make the fantastical realism a little more fantastical so the reader doesn’t confuse it with what’s actually real. She said I need to change up the way I write certain elements of dialogue because an “experiment” I was toying with just didn’t succeed. She compared the whole thing to Edible Woman. She said it was “brilliant.” (Okay, that last one sounds amazing, but don't get excited: she’s British and they throw that word around a lot.)
All in all, having a non-friend, seriously-credible pro edit my book was very useful and well worth the $400 bill. She was very honest and brutal and generous at the same time. She answered all the questions I had been posing only to my overly agreeable Nacho Libre bobblehead for the last two years. And even though she thought I was wrong sometimes, she made me feel right. Because, turns out, I knew what was wrong all along.
I left our meeting with far fewer wounds than I anticipated. Today, I feel only empowered by her feedback, fully aware of how I’m going to address certain areas that need work, and more confident about the ones I stood up for. In the end, of course, my opinion matters most. But after five years of toiling away, someone else’s is nice, too.