I’m rewriting the first half of a manuscript. This is not your father’s revision (assuming your father wrote a novel and revised it without dumping scores of content and backing up in his narrative until he found a more appropriate starting point *breathes*).
One of my main characters was flat. Static. Lifeless (not a vampire pun). He did things and he went places. But he didn’t breathe the air or inhabit the rooms I walked him into. Not any longer. He breathes. He bleeds, quite profusely at times. He hates and he wants, sometimes at the same time. He has appetites, fears, obligations and frustration from those obligations. Glory me, he’s a real boy.
Now, I have to integrate his solider self and his new chapters with the hundred and fifty existing pages. This, gentle readers, is AWFUL. I have consistency issues and revelation issues, and conversations that had taken place on Tuesday now take place on Sunday. But, goodness if the stakes didn’t just go up in this story. Good thing we've got a long weekend coming up.
Listening to: Scarlett Johansson (I know, right?) – Falling Down