Last night, I had one of those nights. Where you think your writing just shits the bed. Something wasn’t working.
I read three pages of the scene over and over. It was wrongness squared.
I couldn’t tell you what was wrong, which made it impossible to fix. I walked away. Okay stalked away. I chewed my fingernails beyond the bleeding mark.
And still I couldn’t figure out what was not working.
So I watched some Vampire Diaries. About 20 minutes into it. The answer came.
In the original draft, I’d worked out backstory there. I needed to do it. But now it felt clunky and unnecessary. During revision, I now sprinkled that backstory throughout the beginning. But I wanted to give it chronology.
The reader needed the entire timeframe. Sans repetition.
So I tinkered and toiled. Did ten drafts today. Until I understood why the scene was there and cut away what wasn’t needed. I polished one ugly ass stone. And found a lovely piece of quartz.
I delighted in my triumph.
I love the moments of blind panic punctuated by euphoria. The breakthrough moment. The AHA now I can fix it moment.
It’s what I live for in my writing.