I’m currently in the process of rewriting the latest draft of the second book of the Time Anew series.
Curiously enough for a series of books about time travel, the time involved in rewrites appears to not obey any of the laws, known or unknown, pertaining to the physics of time. Yeah, sometimes it moves fast and sometimes it moves slow, and you can’t ever predict what it is going to do at any particular moment.
On occasion, when one is pretty close to a black hole, time moves incredibly slowly, or indeed stops entirely. Of course the writer hopes to never ever fall right into that black hole, but in fact it does happen quite regularly. And then it is a hell of a job getting out again. Or… you just pop out that next morning as though yesterday never existed.
Other times, quite by happenstance, serendipity or some kind of technicolor magic, you are out there on the board, ride ride riding that wave of light, at that wave of light speed, balanced, harmonious, and joyous. That is when a hundred pages gets done in an evening.
Sometimes after such a joyride, closer examination the next morning reveals it to have all been a dream. In fact, you had not moved a centimetre. And other times you look back and you see that it is good. That’s creation, and we needn’t discuss that at this particular moment.
It has been said that all writing is the rewriting, and that is probably true. I love doing the first draft when you are lashing out into the unknown. It is like that first love, that first date, that first glance. But then the rewrites are like the solidified love, the love that has grown and evolved, the developed adventure. I love them too.
All writing is writing, and all writing is living. It is beautiful. That’s all we know and that’s all we need to know.