As writers, we know it is best to write with our brain unshackled and our hearts open.
The words should flow unrestrained by rules or fear of redundancy. We shouldn’t let self-judgment or worries about what others might think as the words fall on the paper like petals.
We also know to then let it sit before touching it again. Like fine wine, it needs time to breathe. We need to put space between what was written by our heart and quell the desire to immediately refine it. With literary distance, we can unemotionally (hopefully) read and edit what we wrote with clarity and a discerning eye.
If you are like me, when I write a sentence, paragraph, or chapter, the words continue to swirl in my head even, while away from the computer. I am rewriting while doing the dishes, I come up with new ideas as I pull weeds, and I doubt that every-word-I-ever-wrote-since-the-beginning-of-time was worth the paper it was printed on.
I spent the past weekend doing deep mechanical edits on my manuscript. Although I know I should let it ferment for a time before I revisit it, I am itching to pick at it.
In this video, I am the puppy, my manuscript is the kibble on her leg, and my master, Mr. Manuscript is saying, “Leave it. Leave it. Leave it . . .”
Besides, how cute is this sweet puppy!?! I couldn’t resist.
