Sunday, October 21, 2012


I finished a book-length manuscript 18 months ago. Then I spent a year re-reading it and fixing little things here and there. Not a full solid year, but it took me a year of finding hidden margins of time to re-read the book. When I got to the end of that second read I thought, “Okay, the end isn’t good enough and I have to fix that bit in the middle, make it better.”

A couple more months went by before I could sit down and do this. I’d been looking forward to it. But within about 10 minutes, I thought, “You know, I could fiddle with this forever. This book is done.” Within 24 hours I had found someone to read it through and clean up any typo’s. I’m waiting for her to finish, have figured out who I’m going to ask to design the book and how I want the cover, and I’ve come to love what I had been thinking of as only a working title. 

When I told the woman who will be proofing the manuscript -- a good friend and a fine poet -- that I’d only read through the manuscript once, she more or less gasped. (I don’t know if people actually “gasp,” but she expressed shock). She’d just been telling me of the manual she’d been reading about how to write fiction and how she’s on the fifth read of her own novel. 

Re-reading and re-writing is unquestioned wisdom when it comes to writing. It’s deemed part of the chore of it all – that and sitting alone for hours and hours and hours.

During the summer I was talking with a writer who has been on one book project for a few years. I told him I was just completing my book, that I expected to be done in the fall, that I had a little re-writing to do. “Right,” he said. “And you’ll probably still be at it 3 years from now!” Because that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

I disagree. I disagree with just about everything I read (or, actually don’t read) on how to write. I don’t want anyone – and I mean ANYone – telling me how to write. And I’m not telling you anything here. I’m writing down my experience and I am encouraging you to have some faith in your own experience as a writer and follow the uncharted course it prescribes.

I wrote with a woman the other day for the first time. She’s a successful professional woman who has done a lot of legal writing. She came to me because she wanted to write something more personal. We sat down and had a writing session together. “Wow,” she said afterwards, her eyes shining. “I have never ever written like that before.” She’d written something beautiful, something completely her own, a memory from forty years before, every sentence of it providing more detail so I could see the environment that she was seeing in her mind’s eye. And the next day we spoke of it again. “It was wonderful writing with you,” she said. “It demystified writing!” 

Yes! Take out the mystique that implies only some people have the key to the land of golden treasure – all these endless tracts on how to write, how to “create characters” – they do only harm, no good at all. 

Not that writing is not mysterious. It is. And not that continuing to write doesn’t make you a better writer, that there is always more territory to discover. There is. And not that there isn’t joy and creativity in some re-writing. 

But I have the feeling that if it weren’t for computers writing wouldn’t have become the land of endless rewrites. Think of all those writers who did it by hand or on a typewriter… 

Back to my manuscript. For the last two weeks I have been worried and thinking about it. Maybe I was too rash. I’m usually too rash. Maybe I should do what everyone else does, re-read that sucker, tweak every sentence, make it better.

But my other half won out. No reader is going to notice the changes I will make. If they don’t like the book the way it is now they are not going to eat it up because I’ve made some of the sentences more pleasing. And I believe in what comes out onto the page the first time – I don’t want to lose that. Maybe it’s no good. But no matter how long you work on these things that’s a chance you have to take. 


  1. Marta, I'm fully in agreement about all the crap out there (5 easy steps to...!) telling us how to write, and I've experienced being done with a piece, knowing I'm done, and having no interest in further tweaking. I doubt I'd react very kindly to an editor at a publishing house wanting a big rewrite (but I'll cross that bridge if I ever come to it).

    However, I do have to put in a word for re-writing because for me it's such a pleasure and utterly crucial to my work. Sometimes I've envied writers who are able to say what they really mean on the first pass, because it rarely works that way for me. Revising is how I get those clunky things called words to line up in just the right way so that the ephemeral moods and ideas in my head actually make it to the page. I don't do it for the reader, I do it for myself. And wow, it feels good when it finally happens! I've often wondered if natural writing talent means one doesn't have to work that hard, but whatever the case, I'll keep doing it and re-doing it.

  2. Well, I don't think we're very at odds here, Brent. I think we are both saying something like "Rewrite as long as it's a pleasure, but not because that's the way it's supposed to be." I am reacting to all the hype about writing, much of it involves the absolute necessity of rewriting endlessly, seeing very little value in that "first draft." As you know, I place alot of value on that "first draft" -- a term I would never use because it is so dismissive.

    I too rewrite -- every time I put out a piece of writing -- for a reading or some form of publication -- I change it a bit. It's never done. And at the same time it's always done. I've written in another piece on this blog how every time a piece of writing appears in public you are seeing it like a frozen snapshot of something that is actually moving.

    Again, I am very grateful for the conversation!

  3. As a new author I appreciate this perspective. Thank you!

    1. Hurray! May your writing flourish! Thanks for visiting! Marta