I've just finished a draft of a YA I think is the best thing I've ever written. By far. I'm in that honeymoon phase, or the first day post-partum, when my new baby is nothing but perfect. Unfortunately, not in the eyes of my first reader, a.k.a. my daughter, who as a member of my target audience and songwriter, ought to know.
The initial source of the trouble is my first line. Which I thought was wonderful. I think you know exactly what I mean. Alas, why must we always be called upon to kill our baby darlings? I was pondering this question as I styled my hair this morning.
I'm not one of those people who normally "styles" their hair. But I've grudgingly noticed that I need to join their brigades. That, since I'm not one of those wearing a head full of curls with waves that never crash on the shore on a humid day, I need to make some effort.
My usual attempt at hair styling falls flat (pun intended) because I am far too often far too lazy to take the extra five minutes to actually dry my hair. I just can't be bothered. Which has me wondering: is this how I write as well? Foregoing the extra effort needed to polish my prose and poetry until it shines like a silver spoon a jewelry store display case?
I'm afraid it's true. I am always in search of that magical mousse or gel that will allow me to surrender making any effort. How many of us secretly harbor this fantasy about our work, believing that our first drafts should be our last?
I hope March brings you golden drafts of a different sort. Happy St. Patrick's Day, and best of luck welcoming spring 2014. If you're interested in a paranormal romance about what happens when the vernal equinox goes awry, please consider "Matching Wits With Venus". Happy Writing!