As I sit here drinking (and thoroughly enjoying) my annoyingly expensive designer grande half-caf pumpkin latte with a splash of chocolate, I have come to the realization that it's time. I have fought the inevitability that Katharine needs to be edited. When I began writing it at 13, I failed to understand that not every nuance has to be told flat out on the first page; characters need time to develop; and, while descriptions are great, using a thesaurus for every other word probably is not going to make the story sound more polished.
I laughed a little when I opened the file again; I have grown in my writing, and while I may not be professional-grade, I am a heck of a lot better than I use to be. Published writers have better editors anyway.
Today, I started editing... again. This time though I was not afraid to toss it all.
I hate editing in red. It's hateful, almost vindictive. I myself like using a nice purple. Purple says, "Hey, it's fine, I get it. This isn't your best work, but maybe we can make it okay."
After nearly two hours, I have only made it through two pages, was originally three. I rewrote large chucks, finally being able to convey what my eight-grade self saw as the opening scene in her head, adding a little more mystery. I have got to say: purple-lining feels good.
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