Revision.
You make me crazy!
“Explain,” you say.
You’re akin to blisters, pests, chores, and petty necessaries.
I have sweat and steamed over you,
rehashing plots, revamping chapters, recasting characters.
“Your point?” you ask.
Now, I am a fanatical, fervored writer
glued to my written mess.
Revision,
others warned
you would be a storm, thorns, and bricks on my brain!
“Why stay?” you say.
For those spectacular moments
when my story flows smooth as syrup
and sparks fill me,
singing “you can do this!”
And suddenly,
I’m a dancer, a bird, a shooting star, a perfect snowflake…
“Follow your characters,” you declare.
Exciting when I let them get into grand muck,
but then, I’m stuck in another written mess.
I breathe, cuss,
resume re-doing:
reorganizing scenes,
recalibrating action,
reconditioning description and dialogue.
Again.
Repeat.
Again.
Insane.
But my hope is refueled.
Alas, my main character has a new coat of conviction and chutzpah.
I can’t let her down.
Revision,
you’re a wild renovation that I can’t fully resolve.
“Congrats!” you say. “Resolving is for readers.”
Revision,
you wake me to characters in chaos,
off stowing secrets and lies.
Please give me a shortcut!
“Butt in chair,” you remind.
Revision,
my thick-skinned constant,
you make me crazy,
but I’ll keep my seat on your train,
wrecks and all.
Thank you.
Much obliged.
Appreciate you.