In the writer's community there is a phrase that's not, in the current timeline given recent events, really nice or politically correct. It's what I'm doing this weekend, though, and it is a common phrase, so here we go: I am killing darlings.
These are the things a writer creates. They have meaning, perhaps a special charm or favorite flavor but they are things not integral to telling a good story. Putting them down on paper the writer feels clever, excited by them. Then, when it comes time to edit, to slash and burn to distill the tale down to its best, those darlings are in the way. They're taking up valuable real estate, adding whipped cream to the pumpkin pie of the story.
That, by the way, is purely a seasonal reference. I cannot abide pumpkin pie. The flavor and texture of it makes me want to hurl cookies and stuff.
So, the whipped cream is mostly air with sweet flavoring, nothing of substance. It's what's underneath that has body and meaning. The whipped cream darlings are there, sweet and light and covering up the substance. I'm in the process of scraping off the whipped cream, getting down to the substance.
This is a hard thing to do. Think about that moment with your child, any one of them where you know that what's happening is good or necessary or what the child wants but you don't want it. You want to step in, to protect them.
A moment like that was when my baby daughter had to have a throat swab to make sure she didn't have strep. She was a determined little thing and she wasn't going to let that doctor anywhere close to her with that cotton-tipped thing-a-ma-roo. She fought and struggled so hard that he finally called in a nurse and the nurse and I had to hold her down so the doctor could get those little cells from the inside of her mouth. It was horrific, and it still - the better part of a quarter-of-a-century later - makes me cringe to think of it, but it was necessary.
That's what it feels like as a writer when it comes time to scrape the whipped cream.
My story was, as of Friday evening, well over 122,000 words. That's a lot of words. As of today, right now, it's down to a little over 117,000 words. Almost all of them with substance and meaning. There are still some that are fluff and not strictly necessary, but the majority of what's left behind where I am, are better than they were.
I still have a lot to do. I'm about three-quarters of the way through my book and I know there's a lot of good stuff ahead, but even more fluff, so there is still a lot of work. But, my goal is to finish this story, to get it in good enough shape that by January I could proudly publish it if I want to. At the rate I'm going, I'll be in time for that. I might even have time to do another pass, and kill off a few more of those whipped cream puffs.
The next bit gets really interesting, too. Melanie, my MC, has just confronted her husband and told him she's divorcing him. Coming up, she falls under investigation for murder because he dies. Of course she has an airtight alibi, but I'm trying to think of a way that I might make it a bit less airtight. We'll see. That's part of the fun of writing. For me, anyway.
So what am I missing while I sit here, inside on a beautiful autumn day? Blue skies, warm-ish temps, falling leaves and grubbing around in the mud. Because we had rain, we now have weeds. Lots of them. The little beggars are coming up all over the beds where we had the trees taken out. I think the cypress sap had some sort of anti-veg properties. We sometimes got weeds, but nothing like what I'm seeing out there, now. Now, it's a blanket of green. Which is pretty but a right nuisance when it comes time to get down and dirty with them - ripping them out without mercy, roots and all.
Well, we'll see what happens. There are a lot of things that might happen. One of them is that hubby might actually be convinced that the rotting fence that's leaning like a drunken sailor really does need to be replaced. Actually, he does know that it needs it. He just doesn't want to pay for it. I'm not sure what he's waiting for, unless he wants to see if the thing really will fall over. Once the fence does get replaced - before or after it collapses - he's promised to lay down landscape fabric and then pile rocks on top. That's nice. Kind of.
The fabric and rocks do keep the weeds down, but nothing grows. Then he's talking about taking out the back lawn and laying down a patio. Which will give our backyard all the appeal of a parking lot. That's what he wants though. Zero maintenance through concrete. Not my idea of heaven.
Whatever. We'll see. There's a lot between now and then and this and that. In the meantime, I have more darlings to scrape off my substance so I'm going to send this off and get back to work.
Have a lovely day!
Best~
Philippa
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