The forest and the trees

I’ve been a bit silent of late, but I’ve got a good reason.  I was deep into the final stages of that third draft I kept talking about, and the closer you get to the end, the harder it is to let anything else in life in. 

I could feel myself racing the finish, ready to write that last word, delete that last comma, subtly emphasise that last theme, all in the attempt to make it sing, to make it fly, to make it great...

Was I able to accomplish any of that?

Hell if I know.

Really, by this point for me, there’s a serious forest and the trees scenario.  I’ve spent so much time writing this book (and I don’t just mean the months of writing, I mean the everyday time as well, great hunks of hours in a row, lost in a story, making it work; it’s akin to remodelling your entire house while still living in it) and so much time thinking about it and weaving it together that, here I am, surrounded by thick, thick forest and only able to see the individual trees while I dribble unattractively on my lapel.

If you’re (and by that I mean you in particular reading this, not the universal you) working on something, particularly a novel, particularly a long novel, I expect you’ll get this point of anaesthetised brainwaves as well.  Where, after all the work you’ve done, there comes a point where you just haven’t the slightest idea if it’s any good or not. 

It’s like looking at a particular word for too long – “college” say or even “little” – if you stare at it too closely with too much scrutiny, it starts to lose all meaning, becoming detached from its definition, eventually even its pronunciation, and soon you’ve talked yourself into, “But isn’t that how you spell collage?’

In short, it’s time for a break from it.

Seriously, an important part of writing is taking a breather now and then.  It’s just as exhausting writing a book as it is training for a big sporting event (I speak from experience), and you need rests from both.

I personally scheduled it so I’ve got a holiday shortly, part of which includes attendance at my 20th High School Reunion (yikes!), but mostly it’s a break away from thinking about the book, re-reading the book, discussing the book, or in any way living inside the book for another minute longer.  I need to see the real world again for awhile, unfiltered through prose and metaphor, and recharge my batteries.

It doesn’t have to be a literal holiday either, by the way, just a holiday from the work.  Maybe you could write a short story.  Or fiddle with that film script you’ve lied about throwing away.  Or jot down some new ideas for the book  after this one.

Or, if you’re like me, finally get around to all those little one-hour jobs that people like to ask writers to do.  Seriously, I’ve got a backlog that’ll more than fill my time between now and flying off to parts unwritten.  Or at least until the Edinburgh Festival next week, which comprises several of those one-hour jobs in a row.

And so, I have duly (yesterday) turned in my third draft to my key third draft readers (a slightly larger circle than my second draft readers; but there were only two of them).  Still people whose editorial eyes I trust and whose opinions I’ll listen to.  And my first allegiance is to you, to write this blog to let you know where I’d temporarily spelunked off to.

It’s also time to say that my period as Writer in Residence is starting to come to a close.  My time officially ends 14 September, and there’ll be a new Writer in.  Make them welcome, but not yet!  In my closing month, I’ve promised to respond to a request and put up two final sets of writers’ tips about being published.  Watch for the first of them soon. 

And I’ll be blogging again, of course.  By which point, I’ll have refreshed my creative well and be ready to venture back into what I can, by that point, clearly see is a forest of my own making and maybe, just maybe, planting the final trees...