Final Edit, What I Remember Most
Yesterday my publishing house sent me the proof for my new book What I Remember Most, out in September.
This is the last time I will edit my book. It’s my twelfth (!!) edit. I have no desire to edit it a thirteenth time. In fact, if someone insisted I do so, I might move to a cave in Tanzania and take up yoga and I hate yoga.
The manuscript is now in book form. There should be few errors in the proof. I’m looking for any grammar corrections, spacing problems, accidentally deleted words, etc.
Hopefully I do not find any glaring errors, as that is very, very bad at this point in the publishing game.
Unfortunately, I have found glaring errors, my fault, in the past, and have wanted to take my brains out of my head and punch them for not catching the errors earlier – like in the previous eleven edits.
Luckily, they were fixable, I only stopped breathing a few times, and correctable. I hope that won’t happen again, but we’ll see.
It’s a relief to have that heavy manuscript in my hands. It is not a relief to know I have to very carefully, ploddingly, semi – obsessively read every word YET AGAIN, but the manuscript is finished.
All those words I wrote, 152,000 for this novel, another 40,000 written, then cut out, are now printed on 486 pages.
It looks like a book. It looks real.
This will be the last time I’ll ever read this book, unless I’m at a speaking engagement or book club, then I’ll read a few pages. But about 480 pages, I’ll never set eyes on again. Why? Because I’m done. It’s done.
I am often asked by readers to write sequels, particularly for Julia’s Chocolates. I never want to say never, but I have zero interest in writing sequels. The story, in my head, was imagined, day – dreamed, twisted, turned, and spiraled around and about, and I don’t want to engage those characters again.
Blog Photos April 7 2014 038
I’m happy with What I Remember Most.
Do I think I’m a brilliant writer? I don’t. In fact, if pushed, off the top of my head I could name fifty books, by fifty authors, who are far more talented than me and given another few minutes, add fifty more.
But what I do know is that I did my best with my novel. I poured everything I had into What I Remember Most, and came out the other end wiped out.
As usual, I cried and laughed over that book. I interviewed many people who had been ripped through hard times as kids. I had a tour of jail, which was truly upsetting. I researched some tough topics. I try to go as deep as I can emotionally into all my characters, and as they are all troubled, it can be an exhausting time.
After I turned in this novel, in December, I wrote a short story for an anthology titled Our First Christmas, also out in September, and finished at the end of February. I then edited my novel again, which I received from production from my publishing house.
Since then, I’ve taken time off. I wrote a few blog posts, launched my Read Like Crazy Book Club on facebook, cleaned my house and hung out with my kids, my husband and the cat.
I skied. I am a terrible skier. I walked a lot. I sat and stared out the windows into my backyard and watched the birds. I drank a lot of coffee and bought myself a box of chocolates and worked through a few things in my head I hadn’t had time to work through.
I rested. I read. I went to lunch with my girlfriends and we laughed. I spent hours and hours of time alone. I got the characters out of my mind from the novel and short story and settled down.
And now, after this final edit, I’ll be on to the next book, due in December. A whole new passel of characters.
This morning a gang of free floating ideas roaming around in my head morphed into a plot. Most of it came to me on my run in the woods. (Uh. Jog. I don’t ‘run,’ I jog, and try not to pant overly hard.)
I have a few skittery thoughts: A farm, a vet, a surprise, a graveyard. I don’t know what will pan out, what won’t. I don’t know who will fall in love, or die. Or if anyone will die. It’s all a story mystery.
I am, however, so glad that What I Remember Most is almost done.
It’s about a woman named Grenadine Scotch Wild. She’s on the run.
I hope you like it.
This is the last time I will edit my book. It’s my twelfth (!!) edit. I have no desire to edit it a thirteenth time. In fact, if someone insisted I do so, I might move to a cave in Tanzania and take up yoga and I hate yoga.
The manuscript is now in book form. There should be few errors in the proof. I’m looking for any grammar corrections, spacing problems, accidentally deleted words, etc.
Hopefully I do not find any glaring errors, as that is very, very bad at this point in the publishing game.
Unfortunately, I have found glaring errors, my fault, in the past, and have wanted to take my brains out of my head and punch them for not catching the errors earlier – like in the previous eleven edits.
Luckily, they were fixable, I only stopped breathing a few times, and correctable. I hope that won’t happen again, but we’ll see.
It’s a relief to have that heavy manuscript in my hands. It is not a relief to know I have to very carefully, ploddingly, semi – obsessively read every word YET AGAIN, but the manuscript is finished.
All those words I wrote, 152,000 for this novel, another 40,000 written, then cut out, are now printed on 486 pages.
It looks like a book. It looks real.
This will be the last time I’ll ever read this book, unless I’m at a speaking engagement or book club, then I’ll read a few pages. But about 480 pages, I’ll never set eyes on again. Why? Because I’m done. It’s done.
I am often asked by readers to write sequels, particularly for Julia’s Chocolates. I never want to say never, but I have zero interest in writing sequels. The story, in my head, was imagined, day – dreamed, twisted, turned, and spiraled around and about, and I don’t want to engage those characters again.
Blog Photos April 7 2014 038
I’m happy with What I Remember Most.
Do I think I’m a brilliant writer? I don’t. In fact, if pushed, off the top of my head I could name fifty books, by fifty authors, who are far more talented than me and given another few minutes, add fifty more.
But what I do know is that I did my best with my novel. I poured everything I had into What I Remember Most, and came out the other end wiped out.
As usual, I cried and laughed over that book. I interviewed many people who had been ripped through hard times as kids. I had a tour of jail, which was truly upsetting. I researched some tough topics. I try to go as deep as I can emotionally into all my characters, and as they are all troubled, it can be an exhausting time.
After I turned in this novel, in December, I wrote a short story for an anthology titled Our First Christmas, also out in September, and finished at the end of February. I then edited my novel again, which I received from production from my publishing house.
Since then, I’ve taken time off. I wrote a few blog posts, launched my Read Like Crazy Book Club on facebook, cleaned my house and hung out with my kids, my husband and the cat.
I skied. I am a terrible skier. I walked a lot. I sat and stared out the windows into my backyard and watched the birds. I drank a lot of coffee and bought myself a box of chocolates and worked through a few things in my head I hadn’t had time to work through.
I rested. I read. I went to lunch with my girlfriends and we laughed. I spent hours and hours of time alone. I got the characters out of my mind from the novel and short story and settled down.
And now, after this final edit, I’ll be on to the next book, due in December. A whole new passel of characters.
This morning a gang of free floating ideas roaming around in my head morphed into a plot. Most of it came to me on my run in the woods. (Uh. Jog. I don’t ‘run,’ I jog, and try not to pant overly hard.)
I have a few skittery thoughts: A farm, a vet, a surprise, a graveyard. I don’t know what will pan out, what won’t. I don’t know who will fall in love, or die. Or if anyone will die. It’s all a story mystery.
I am, however, so glad that What I Remember Most is almost done.
It’s about a woman named Grenadine Scotch Wild. She’s on the run.
I hope you like it.
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Yes, Donna, sometimes it is painful!! I'll sit and write a scene in my book, and I'll just cry over it. Sometimes I know what's coming for my character in terms of a hard situation, and sometimes I don't - as in The Last Time I Was me. I did not know Jeanne Stewart had gone through what she did until I was at the keyboard. It was like I was watching a movie - in fact, when I write my stories it's like I'm watching a movie in my head and I write what I'm seeing - and I found out that way what Jeanne had experienced.
So, because she had had so many hard times, I also had her running naked along the river in the book, gave her a romance, put her in a bar fight, and had her enroll in Anger Management class with other people where they painted themselves and flew like birds.
Challenges managed with joy and laughter, that's what I try to do in my books.
Thanks for the reminder of the beginning of Julia's Chocolates: I left my wedding dress hanging in a tree somewhere in North Dakota.
Had an image of that in college.
Thanks for writing, Donna.
Oh, and PS. The publishing house proofs my books, in fact production and proofing both do it, but I have the next to the last edit. and I MUST do that myself. Has to be perfect. Every word. If it's not, it's my fault.
I feel your angst when I am reading what you write. Julia's Chocolates is a book I did not want to finish reading because I knew I would miss those women. So I go back and visit now and then.I appreciate your work and your sharing of the process of writing. When reading your work I get lost in the stories you tell. Thanks!
Thank you, Lillian.I'm glad you get lost in my stories when you're reading. To tell you the truth, so do I.
It'll be ten o'clock at night and I'll sit down, write, see a movie of the story in my head...and all of the sudden it's 1 in the morning. Time just goes. I'm totally with the characters, laughing and crying. Try The Last Time I Was Me. It'll have you (I truly hope) laughing, too.
Maybe a few tears...
I agree! It is 11:22 at night and I can't stop reading The Signature of All Things...I will read The Last Time I Was Me.
LOVED The Signature of All Things. Try The Invention of Wings, too.
I will admit that I also thought Julia's Chocolates and all of it's characters could support at least one more book, but it certainly isn't necessary because it was a gem all on it's own. The first line in Julia's Chocolates will never be beat by another in my opinion.
Well wishes to you and "do what you love."