As unpublished novelists go, I’m sort of a diva, apparently. I’m over here LOLing at my own revision notes because I’ve realized how my rational self tiptoes around my writer self.
Writer Me doesn’t like being told what to do, even when Rational Me knows I need it. So I’ve subconsciously devised a way of making suggestions to myself that won’t offend me when I read them sometime in the future. Don’t ask me to make sense of it. There’s none to be made.
I thought maybe it was a fluke, exclusive to this story, so I opened up some other works-in-progress. And yep, it’s always the same. I start with “Maybe” and end with a question mark.
“Maybe he doesn’t even go to school that day?”
“Maybe over dinner she finally reveals why she doesn’t like being called Mona?”
“Maybe the twins are assholes because their parents have been forcing them to do the follow-up shows and they hate the attention? I mean, maybe they just want to feel like normal kids?”
I’d honestly never realized my writer self was so delicate. And why don’t I react this way to notes from my agent or other readers? My agent certainly isn’t delicate about it. She says things like, ” No way. Awk. Ward. He would NEVER say this.” If I wrote that to myself, I’d pout and eat two shit-tons of Doritos. It happens.
“Maybe she could work on actual revisions now? Instead of blogging and pretending hyper analysis of her analysis of her work is actually work in the name of increased self-awareness?” Yes, that. Onward.
Happy 2013, everybody! May we find this year busting with good health and increased happiness, but mostly ego-bolstering debut novel sales.
R.L. SAUNDERS 