The Revision

I am currently rewriting a 9,000 word article that will be published relatively soon. Usually when I finish something that I’ve written, I think, well, this is OK, and I’m glad it’s done. When I finished the first draft of this story, I was kind of amazed with myself. I felt I had done something I really needed to do and done it better than I had imagined I could have. I have only felt this way as a writer a handful of times.

I tried to get this story published at one place and they said no. I was annoyed that this place didn’t want it. I don’t often have so much belief in what I have done that I feel offended at rejection, but in this case, I was like, alright, your loss and I was actually kind of pissed, which is maybe obnoxious. Then I tried another place. They also said no, which was more understandable since they don’t really publish stuff like what I wrote. I finally got a good place to take it.

Now that I’m doing a minor but not insignificant rewrite, responding to notes, I feel a little embarrassed about the story. Not that I don’t think it’s good, though I am a little less arrogant about it than I was before, which is probably healthy, ha ha. It’s more that I feel I may have revealed myself too much. The story is more or less about my feelings, what it’s like to be me. I think I’m pretty honest, as a writer anyway, about my emotions. In real life I might be less honest. There seems to be so much more at stake in real life.

I don’t think I would bother writing down and describing the feelings I had if I didn’t think other people had them as well. I believe that part of what I do when I write is to reassure people that they aren’t as uniquely fucked up as they think they are, because everyone feels really fucked up. Especially me. But there is always the fear that by telling people how I feel I am exposing myself as an idiot or a baby or worse, someone who thinks they are telling a deep and scary truth when they are just a huge asshole.

I imagine telling that to someone who isn’t a writer, and they might say, so, that’s the worst possible outcome? You think you are telling a deep and scary truth when you are just being a huge asshole? The idea being that this isn’t a big deal. And I get it. But it is. It’s a huge deal.

I am almost done with my rewrite. I want my story to be as good as the Bob Dylan song Isis. To this end I will be trimming it down. The song Isis is all muscle and no fat. Not that fat in a song, or any work of art, is always bad. But I don't think my story should have any fat. It’s a story that lends itself to leanness. Tomorrow I will make it very lean.

I will read the story out loud to myself and if I say something that bores me I will cut it.

If I read a paragraph and I realize nothing really happens in it other than me saying some garbage I think sounds good I will cut it. Except that part about my hotel room. I’m not cutting that. Also the part about the marijuana. I’m not cutting that either. I am not going to add back the dogs, either, as much as I want to. It’s unfortunate that the dogs won’t be in the story, because they were kind of important, but there’s really no place for them. That said, I don’t know. Maybe I should add back the dogs.

These are the dilemmas I will solve tomorrow. And then I will turn it in. I wanted this rewrite to take a day, it has taken five. That is ridiculous. But sometimes, that is just how things are.