I won't bullshit anyone; today has been rough. I don't like getting into why- I'm not interested in pity parties. Sometimes, or many times, shit comes at you from all angles, all at once. You either deal with the circumstances or puss out. You'll always feel better if you deal.
I've managed another ten pages of editing so far today. Not too impressive but this is deep editing, down to the marrow. It's remarkable the fuck-ups you can find when you focus beyond your own perceived brilliance.
Still cutting. I've whittled it down to 102,600 words. Pretty sure I can knock off another 1k plus. I worried taking so much out would dilute the story. The worry is false. I find it easier to read and follow with the bullshit out of the way. But it's a process- long and painstaking.
I enjoy it to the point of obsession.
It's the time of year where the sun hits at a certain angle at certain times of the day and brings back memories. Almost as if you can go back to a place and time, right there in your head, and it's an absolutely pure feeling.
On days like this I'm reminded of why I like writing crime fiction, especially here in St. Pete. A good majority of crime novels based in Florida always seem to revolve around the boat set: fishing, beach bars, "Florida Man" type things. I like to view things from the other side of the coin, from the downtrodden point of view.
Maybe it's because I grew up in a place where most people didn't have much. Life can be hard in rural America. I like people who don't have much but always push forward. People who get themselves deep in shit and have to work out their situation. Those are the folks I write about.
When people read my work, I want them to feel what I feel while I'm writing- the grasping at straws, anxiety, and dark humor. Of hope and despair. I want to push them through a jungle of deceit and pain. I want them to know there are people out there on the fringes who are just like us save a mistake here or there. A mistake that changed the course of their life. And that any of our lives can be altered, whether intended or not.
Back to work.
It's a beautiful day here in Florida and I'm working lowering on the word count for my crime novel. My original draft came in at around 115,000 words. My second draft came in at around 108,500 and I was very confident with the end product. But feedback from agents suggests more work is needed and the challenge is welcome. I'm currently at around 103,700 words with no plot or character cuts.
On a side note, I'm also re-working my query. Or I may just burn it, bury it in the backyard with the other bodies and start over. Either way, I'll make it work.
