Have been working on "Hellbound Train" for the
past several months, with a few thousand words--and four chapters--short of my
original goal. The operative word: original.
With that in mind, and as fate would have it, I have an
interview with a literary agent at the end of the week. Fortunately, she only wants to see the first
ten pages, and we'll go on from there.
Okay, no problem.
Until the call came in the writing process was geared around
getting a first draft completed. Suddenly the anxiety level slipped beyond the
capabilities of my blood pressure meds and the brain immediately clogged with
all the necessities of retooling for final draft mode.
Okay, lets think about this.
Break down the tasks into realistic bite-sized pieces and go from
there. First, medicate. It only took a couple of cabinets before the
bottle of tequila was dusted off and doing its job.
Next, pull out the first chapter and see what the challenge
is going to be. Disaster time. This one was well beyond the capabilities of
FEMA. At best maybe it could be sold as
an example of what an opening chapter should not look like. Always thinking.
Breathe deep, more medication, move on.
Hardening my heart and soul, it was time to rip the plot,
story line, and a few other things apart.
Seeking out the weak areas, paying careful attention to the flow, and
putting a bullet into at least one character the manuscript was carefully put
back together (see photo). When the dust
settled not only was the trashcan stuffed with a discarded character, but 7,000
words were piled atop of the body, and the manuscript dropped from 35 chapters
to 23.
The following photo is my writing area locked and cocked to
kick off another day.
