Like a fly in molasses

The title of this post aptly describes my current (and final, I hope) round of revisions. It seems like it's taking me nearly as much time to revise a chapter as it took to write it in the first place!

Yikes.

On Monday, I started revisions on Chapter 4 -- a longish chapter that's one of the most crucial scenes in the book. It's where real life and, well, other stuff collide. It was hard to write (there's some graphic violence and a young child involved), and I remember well the depression I sank into while writing it. It was hellish, even though I knew it was the make-or-break scene of the book.

It took me a week to write the chapter back in early summer of 2007. It took me two entire days to revise it.

At this rate, I won't be done for weeks. I mean, there's 28 chapters in the book! And keep in mind that this is the fourth of fifth (I forget the actual count) revision I've done. This sucker is going to sing when it's done. Hell, it ought to wash the car and cook dinner, too!

There's a part of me that wants to get the book done and send it off. To someone. Anyone.

There's another part of me that knows it has to be the best it can be before I send it out.

I keep telling myself that the book is getting better. And it is. And the better the book is, the better my chances of getting an agent and, eventually, a book deal.

So I plod on, desperate to get back to writing my new book.

One thing I've learned is this: For me, writing is a hell of a lot more fun than editing.

My writing life

Today, I bravely brushed aside my horrific, mind-boggling fears and deeply felt insecurities and tore wildly into the massive manuscript -- rewriting, polishing and killing adverbs and adjectives as savagely as a wild-eyed barbarian with a razor-sharp, two-foot sword.

Ahem.

I also thought I'd use this snowy Monday to tell you a bit about my daily routine and my writing space. For some reason, all writers are utterly obsessed with other writer's routines and workspaces. I'm not sure why, but then I also don't know why dogs sniff each other's butts. So what do I know?

My weekdays follow a pretty rigid routine. I wake up about 7 a.m. and watch Morning Joe on MSNBC while gulping down coffee in bed. I get really grumpy if I don't get my daily dose of Mika, Joe and Willy, et al. When Wife and Child leave for work and school at about 8:20, I head off to the gym for an hour long workout followed by an equally long and relaxing steam and a cool, invigorating shower. It's both heaven and hell. The workout, of course, is the hell part.

I arrive home at about 10:15 and make breakfast. Since I stay on a very low-carb diet, it usually consists of an Egg Beaters omelet with cheese and onions, along with three slices of turkey bacon. And a small glass of one-percent milk. I read the newspaper after breakfast and then spend about thirty minutes reading the dictionary. That's right. The dictionary. Everyday. It's the only way I know to beef up my vocabulary. I find it oddly relaxing. And yes, I take notes. God, I've become such a geek. I also try to get at least an hour's worth of reading for enjoyment in each day (usually at night; more on weekends) since all writers must read. It's like a rule or something. And I'm just about finished with Stephen King's massive Under The Dome, which I plan to review on this blog, perhaps later this week or on Sunday.

Hey. You still with me? Good. Hang in there. There's some writing and editing coming up. I promise.

After breakfast, usually around 11, I head downstairs to the study where my work space is located. I fire up the computer and the little fireplace (in winter) and do an initial online visit to check e-mails, blogs, news stories, Twitter, Facebook, etc. I try to keep it to thirty minutes, tops.

Around 11:30, I pour myself a big mug of Starbucks, clip a nice cigar and get to work. I then work solidly until about 5 or 5:30, when the Wife and Child get home. Since I generally make dinner, I'll get that in the oven if it's something that requires baking (and it usually does). We eat a lot of baked chicken breasts. I'm getting very tired of baked chicken breasts, but that's a whole other post.

I don't turn on the study television set, nor do I listen to music when I write or edit. I know some do, but it's too distracting for me. I do, however, listen to music when I brainstorm. And I generally crank it up real LOUD. I set aside Fridays for more outwardly pursuits (like seeing other people for lunch, hanging out at coffee shops and things like that), although I seem to end up working more often than not. It's very easy for me to isolate myself to the point that I am no longer in touch with the world I'm trying to write about. That's not a good thing.

I reserve evenings for family, reading, computer time, sports and cable news shows, although I do work Sunday nights (and blog, as well), since the wife works nights on Sundays and the Child and I get bored once football is over.

Saturdays are freebies. Once my gym time is over, I do whatever the hell I want. So there.

And that's my life. Looking at it in black and white (or tan, since that's the color of my blog), it ain't much. But it makes me happy and it allows me the time I require to write, edit and pursue my dreams. And in the end, isn't that what matters most?