With the current editing I am doing on my manuscript, this is the closest I’ve ever come to reading my own book. It’s an odd thing. No pride or vanity intended, I have to admit that it’s very good. At least, parts of it are very good. Much of the time I can remain focused on looking for changes to make. I read through sentences and decide to reword them. I choose to make a better word choice here or there. I take out superfluous statements. The editing is coming along well and I am happy with the improvements. There are certain places in the story, however, where I just get sucked into reading! I read three paragraphs and have to stop myself, sheepishly realizing that I have not paid any attention to editing needs.
This endeavor of editing is proving to be an encouragement. In addition to enjoying the story in the nearest thing to a ‘reader’ state of mind as I’ve had to date, I am also learning how far I have to go. The editing reveals how much room for improvement there is in my book. True, that could be a negative thing. Except that I always knew I wasn’t the strongest of writers. I have no formal training. My college degree is not in English or Communications or any other relevant subject. School made me a good writer of research papers. It did nothing to foster my creative writing abilities. Instead, I have become a fiction writer by writing fiction. There is a marked difference in strength between the opening chapters of my first novel and the closing chapters. Also, I can’t even estimate the worth of the revisions I have done since ‘finishing’ Full of Days. I have a persistent notion that in ten years, if I read my debut novel again, I will chuckle over how many more potential changes I will see then that I cannot see now. I plan on getting better. I plan on each novel being better than the last.
All the same though, I am rather happy with my first.