Summed up in one word, 2016 was exhausting. It came at me from all angles–professionally, personally, physically–all twelve months of the year without reprieve. I lost more than one person I loved. I got other sorts of bad news. I failed at a lot at things I tried and built up hope for (though none of those “things” were submission-related, the philosophy of why you should aim for 1,000 rejections a year and be happy about that tally has helped me reframe my feelings a bit).
When looking over the gold stars (one star per hour of butt-in-chair writing time) on my monthly calendar, the way I track out my writing year, I was even more put-out. I kept scolding myself: You didn’t write every day, or even every week! You have to do better this year!
Even though a few wonderful things happened–I became a godmother to an absolute charmer of a cute baby, I signed with a literary agent who is encouraging and supportive and lovely–I’m the kind of lady who is thrilled by gold stars and checking things off lists and other trackable accomplishments, and it felt like 2016 had beat me 10-2.
I snuggled in the last two days of the year reading the first draft of a YA project I started and finished in 2016. I was kind of dreading it. Though I struggle with the drafting process, period–I moan, groan, and whine, my confidence is low the entire time (revision really is much more my cup of tea)–I had this persistent impression that the premise of this story was great and the execution on the page was, at best, an incredibly rough zero draft that would require a rough slog of a revision in the new year.
You can imagine my surprise and delight when the manuscript actually turned out to be…good. My best first draft ever, I’d be willing to say. Oh, there are rough patches and pacing issues and one of the main characters definitely falls a little flat, and I’ve already sliced out 20,000 words that weren’t doing any good, but even despite that, the word “wow” came to mind more than once as I read the pages. It’s no literary masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination–and it still is a draft after all–but it is without question a huge jump in craft for me.
After reading the draft, I’m looking back at the calendar with significantly more pride: Wow, I was really dedicated this year. I found time despite everything, even during the crap storms. I kept at it. And it really paid off. Quietly, so quietly I didn’t even recognize it while it was happening, I was a more dedicated writer than I’ve been in any year previously. I wrote a full draft faster than I’ve ever managed. And this draft, these characters, this plot–it is doing so many things right. In a year where so much was out of my control, looking at these pages where I managed to wrangle stubborn characters and interweave multiple complicated plot lines during scraps and starts of free time makes me feel a little better prepared to step into January.
Here’s to 2017 and the revsision cave, folks.