Re-Writes: The Most Wonderful Time of My Process - or - How I am Responsible for Deforestation

After finishing the initial first draft I always take a bit of a break from anything I am writing.  The doubt demons start planning their vacation, generally involving a trip to an IRS processing center or an animal testing lab.  Everything is quiet and, while the story continues to rattle in the back of my head, I try not to think about it.

This distancing is a part of my own process.  It gives the story time to germinate and cook for a while.  True, the words saved on my computer don’t change during this time, but my approach as to how I might handle them will as my subconscious does its work.

Some writers produce a first draft that only needs a few tweaks here and a few editing passes.  I am not one of those writers.  My first drafts are always a skeleton of plot, characters and motivations that tells the story from beginning to end; A living DNA sequence of what “might be” still battling for existence in the final draft.  Some initial drafts are closer to a final than others.

The troll story was not.

The doubt demons waved as they walk out the door, reminding me, one last time, that that I had written a bunch of crap.  I didn’t even acknowledge them as I read though my work.  At this point it didn’t matter.  I didn’t care what they thought even though I was looking at garbage.  Something I would never share with anyone in its current form.

The freshly printed story sat before me.  My heart raced.  My pen scratched across the paper.  This was the beginning of my favorite part of my writing.  At this point I have one question at the back of my mind.  Is there something in this mess that excites me?  Something that will keep me interested enough in it to see it through to the end?

If the answer is no, then the file is tucked away in the folder of miss-fit stories.  I assure the Word document, that I will check in on it after a while and see if we can work something out, but that has never happened with the other files that were placed in that folder– some of them never even making it to a finished first draft.

But if the answer is yes, then fun begins. I start the re-writes.

This is a chaotic time where no element of my initial draft is safe.  Things get moved around.  Characters are developed, changed, developed more and changed again.  Some are removed; others get merged into a single character.  Entire sections of the story are destroyed by a swipe of my pen, and new scenes pop into existence.  I judge quickly and navigate by my own amusement, creating and destroying at my whim.

I am God. 

New versions appear on a daily basis.  I hunt for what works and what doesn’t, and I keep asking, “what if?”  A change here or there flows through the story like a mudslide; each change must be accounted for with new changes.  And those changes create ripples of their own.  I type in the changes, save the new version, review it, and then change some more.  I thrive in the chaos.

By the way, here’s why the doubt demons leave during this phase: they hate trees.  They dream of a world without trees, and know if I am left alone during this time, I will take out as many of them as I can.

Hello.  My name is Scott and I use up a lot of paper.

When I write my first draft, I do it all on a computer.  But from that point on, each new version is printed out to do battle with my pen.  I envy those environmentally minded writers that can do it all by using a keyboard while gazing at their monitor. I’m just unable to do that.  Each version must be held in my hands while the dissection occurs.  Lines are scribbled out and notes are written that are later added, yes using a keyboard, to create the newest version saved on my computer.  During this time, reams of marked-up paper can be found around my house until my wife threatens to rip off my back hair unless I put it away somewhere or get it out of the house.

So how long does this tree killing spree go on?  It depends.  For my troll story I went through six major re-writes and countless minor changes until I was comfortable enough to share it with some close friends for initial feedback.  After that, I went through three or four additional iteration until I thought it was ready to share with the anthology’s contributors and editors. 

With each new version, the number of changes compared to the last dwindled.  Characters matured.  Most plot holes had been filled with asphalt.  Time passed, the story stabilized and matured.  The changes turned from substance to stylistic.  The time of the re-writes was ending, the fun part was ending.  The doubt demons returned home refreshed and ready to get back to work.

It was time to start editing.