I'm Biting My Tongue Out of Respect

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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Fall Is Here - At Last!

Golly gee whiz - we've had RAIN here the past couple of days. It's been so sporadic for so long (years) I had become cynical. Every time I heard some weather person say 'we're going to get rain' I would shrug, look away and mutter, 'yeah, and pigs will fly among a squadron of lead balloons soaring across interstellar space' or words to that effect. But we did and we have and it is SOOO nice!

On top of that, it's cold outside (for these parts, anyway). Frost on the roofs and a decided nip in the air again this morning. That, too, is wonderful. An exclamation mark on my very favorite time of the year, weather-wise. The time of year for sweaters and gloves and scarves, for looking forward to settling in someplace warm after being chilled.

The trees are glowing gold and yellow (we don't get a lot of red or scarlet around here, some, but not swathes of it like back East in New England). Leaves are carpeting the sidewalks. And roads. And the leaves on the road aren't so good because they're slippery (traction), but they'll go away soon.

In the meantime, I'm enjoying the cool weather, fall-blue skies (which are a different color entirely from any other time of year), and the bite in the air when I step outside. Just walking down the street is a pure pleasure. The chill in the shade offset by the warmth when you step into the sun - it's a marvelous dichotomy.

This morning I woke up before my alarm - a nice thing to do since it gives me a chance to just lie there and think, 'ahhh, I'm comfy' before Reality jabs me in the ribs with its sharp elbow. Because the window was open the room was cold, but the extra blankets made up the difference. It was lovely to be snuggled down under the covers and begin to plan my day.

We, I and several colleagues, are in the throes of planning our company's holiday party.

I should know better by now. I'm certainly old enough to know better by now. Never volunteer for anything. But I did and now, for better or worse, I'm on the committee.

Which is fine. I do enjoy doing stuff like this. It's organizational in nature, so it's right up my street and I know it's going to help make the party a success if it's planned and laid out for everyone. It's just that I'm on the fence about going to it myself.

I am NOT a social butterfly. Mingling in large groups is, for me, less pleasurable than a root canal performed by a quack without benefit of lidocaine or novocaine or any painkillers whatsoever.

Inevitably, I feel so awkward and out of place that I end up standing by the wall or in an inconspicuous corner wondering 'what the hell am I doing here?' Followed immediately by a glance at the wristwatch and internal query, 'I wonder if anyone will notice if I leave? Damn! I've only been here two minutes.'

If I do try to mingle (it's called 'force of will'), I'll sidle up to a group and stand there, feeling as if they're itching to close ranks and block me out, except they know it would be rude. Then, if I do interject something into the conversation, I inevitably feel as if I'm:

a) intruding
b) irritating everyone who was already there
c) making an observation that was already made thirty seconds before I joined and, thereby, looking stupid, or
d) all of the above.

Pretty much about as welcome as a turkey vulture at a picnic.

Can you tell I don't like parties and socializing? Small groups, intimate groups of people I know well and with whom I'm comfortable conversing, are fine - but since hubby is even more insular than I am, it's rare to find myself in an intimate setting among people with whom I feel completely at ease.

Now, with all of that said, one of the first things I want to do in my next stage of life is to have a celebration for my changed state. A manner of 'coming out party' where I can shed the vestiges of what has been and step out among a select group of close acquaintance and friends into a new place in my life.

Today, however, I shall look forward to taking a lovely drive along country roads on a beautiful autumn day through stands of trees changing their colors. That's the upside, the happy take-away from this situation. That and a free lunch since we're going to be sampling our options for dinner. Which I hope will be buffet style. There's no good way to serve a plated dinner for that many since the first people served will have cold meals by the time the last table is served, or the first table served will be sitting on their hands, looking around for dessert by the time the last plate is served.

Yeah. I'm sure it'll be a buffet. Which does have a certain appeal. Maybe I should go after all? Mm. I'll think about it.

I hope you have a lovely day!

Best~
Philippa

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories