I'm trying to get into the writing groove and finding it sooooo hard to do the revisions on my novel. Where's the love? I am not getting the same satisfaction from polishing a chapter as I get from polishing a short poem or article. When I work on a short piece, I can say that I'm finished. I don't see the end in sight for my novel.
The first half of the book is in decent shape. The second half, not. So I've decided to borrow a trick from my singing days ... start working on a piece backwards. Yes, I've sung Mozart and Verdi and Brahms and the only way to finish with a bang is to make each and every cell of your body knows the material. And you do this by working backwards. Because you practice, practice, practice getting to the end, you can finally not just sing the notes, but feel the music in your bones. That's what I want to accomplish with my words. As Dr. Green would say, "Once more, with feeling!"
I'm good at beginnings. I love writing when the characters are literally telling me the story and all I'm doing is transcribing. But characters are fickle. They stop talking (perhaps I'm not listening) or do something I'd rather they not do. Sustaining a story for fifty-sixty thousand words is hard. Making it sing (with feeling) is even harder. So, I'm going backwards, and I must admit that working on the ending has put me in a better mood. I'm leaving these characters in a better place ...
So what does this have to do with a no good, horrible weekend? Nothing, except, when the worst thing that can happen is twisting your ankle so you have to keep off your feet, ice it and rest, life's actually pretty good.
So, tell me, how do you fall in love again so that you can make your stories sing?