When I was writing the first draft of my current work-in-progress (a middle-grade novel), I kept going by telling myself, “Just get the story out—you can revise it later.”

Now the draft is finished and I’m in the revising stage…now it’s “later.”

And now I need something else to tell myself, to keep me going.

It turns out that finishing a novel feels like a moment of mountaintop glory followed by a long, tired, and still-difficult hike back down to the bottom. Or like an elaborate, expensive party, and now the bill has come due—and the cleanup work, too. Or an exciting ocean voyage, followed by a boggy quagmire.

Revising is not as much fun as drafting, at least for me. I find it hard to keep motivated, even though I really do want to polish my work and get it out there in the world, and I want it to be the best it can be.

But in the everyday grind of life—in which it’s already hard for me to get writing time— I tend to not want to spend those precious moments on revising. I want to just write.

So the revising work keeps stalling out; I’ll go for days without working on it at all. It’s apparently not interesting/stimulating/rewarding enough for my ADHD brain, even though it’s something I do care about doing in a values sense.

I’m definitely open to any and all suggestions!

Here’s what I’ve tried so far:

1. Make a structured revising plan. This was/is my plan…sensible, I think, but maybe too much in practice:

   1. First, fix obvious problems and major plot/character changes needed. (Done)

   2. Second, go through page by page and revise for stronger, clearer writing overall. (Done, for now, anyway)

   3. Third, go through and add more sensory/concrete details for even better writing. (working on it now)

   4. Fourth, go through and revise to check for genre appropriateness (in this case, word choices that correspond to a middle-grade reading level).

   5. Fifth, send it to trusted friends/beta-readers; then make any changes based on their feedback.

2. Using a timer for the work each day. This does help…but not really enough.

3. Printing out the manuscript to mark up with colorful pens. This is much more fun than doing revising/editing work on a screen…but still, not enough.

4. Go ahead and start querying. I’ve just begun this idea of going ahead with querying even though the manuscript doesn’t feel perfected, in order to feel like there’s real action happening on the work. I have queried one agent so far (!!!) and haven’t heard back yet; I have the next one picked out for when the stated response time-window expires.

Here’s what I’m thinking about doing next:

(sheepish cringe) I might just stop revising for now and send it to my beta readers as it is, then move on to drafting the next book in the series.

At least that way I would be moving forward with my “Project Writing Practice” (PWP, as I call it) instead of just basically treading water.

Advice?

If you have some advice for me on how to keep myself moving with revising my manuscript to make it better and stronger, please do share!

I want my writing to ring with truth and presence.

I want not to just write, but

WRITE.

Not tiptoe apologetically or twitter sheepishly.

Not mollycoddle, but manifest.

Not dithering, but damn.

I want to say what I think and feel
like I believe it’s real!

I want to not be guided by the ever-shifting opinions and conventions of the crowd. I do care about connecting with people and trying to build bridges rather than burn them, but it seems to me that my best path for accomplishing that end is not more reserve, but more honest presence.

May I keep whacking away at the weeds of learned smallness, to speed my inner Writer on her path of rising up.

“Insist on yourself; never imitate.

…There is at this moment for you an utterance brave and grand as that of the colossal chisel of Phidias, or trowel of the Egyptians, or the pen of Moses, or Dante, but different from all these.

…Abide in the simple and noble regions of thy life, obey thy heart.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Self-Reliance”

First, though, I’ll set the scene a little by writing about my relationship with writing.

Backstory

I’ve loved writing since I was a kid, when I filled my notebooks with stories and poems. I have happy memories of writing in my room, in our yard, and on swim breaks at our neighborhood pool. Writing was magical to me.

Then followed a period of years in which writing was mostly lost to me, during the mental, physical, and spiritual strains of my teenage years and early twenties. Those were dark days indeed.

In my mid-twenties, I broke loose from my bonds and started healing—and writing.

Rising action

I don’t have much to show for it yet, outwardly. I’ve been more focused on writing than on trying to submit my work. I have made a few little attempts, and I got my first short story prize and publication last year!

My notebooks and files, however, are full of stories, poems, songs, children’s stories, essays, miscellaneous projects, and a few unfinished novels. The one novel I’ve finished is the one I’m currently revising and hoping to start submitting to agents soon. (!)

To me, notebooks full of writing are like gardens full of flowers. Writing means joy.

Plot twist

Here’s the catch: I know that writing brings me joy, but trauma shaped me to pursue threat-management instead of joy.

So, getting myself to actually do the thing that brings me joy is not a simple matter.

(I know many of you can relate to this problem!)

Therefore, writing very much involves tending to my mental and physical health and finding and enacting boundaries.

Plus, given that I’m a mother of young kids, it also involves a lot of clever strategizing, patience, and opportunity-seizing.

On the other hand, this means I have a handy diagnostic for how I’m doing (which I need because I tend to minimize my feelings and struggles): how much I’m writing!

Character

Leaning into this learning, I have begun calling my inner child Writer. It fits and makes sense: the childlike part of me who holds my core feelings loves and needs to write.

(I’m guessing that the basic concept here is true for most people: the inner child needs to create, though the medium will differ for different people—and not limited to purely artistic mediums, either—because we create art by how we live our lives!)

Asking my Writer how she’s feeling and what she needs is a shortcut for connecting to my core.

Setting

As you know, I love using the image of a river for the ebb and flow of life. In that imagery, my Writer has her own river—her own set of ever-changing conditions—unpredictable waters that she must face and navigate.

Now, when the current allows, she can write about her experiences in this new section called Writer’s Waters.