There is the temptation to flounder, to panic. But I have a plan.
I’m going to edit this story.
I enjoy the intoxicating freedom of free writing, but there’s a part of me that enjoys editing even more. It’s easier, in some ways, to fix ideas that are already on the page. The story exists in at least a basic form. So, while it can take a lot of concentrated work to adjust plots, dialogue, event progression, even characters, I’m not starting from scratch. I’m just making it better.
I have fond memories of editing my last original story, Number Seven and the Life Left Behind. I printed up the manuscript, walked over to our University library, and settled into one of the quiet study spaces over several lunch breaks, just me, my pages, and my correcting pen. I’m looking forward to doing the same with this story, which is still working under the tentative title House of Ghosts and Strays.
Before I go into full editing mode, though, I’m going to take a break. It’s important for me to take a break from a story every now and then. It’s especially important for me to break between finishing a draft and diving into editing.
Writing requires a specific set of skills related to forming ideas and putting them down on the page. Plot threads and characters can run wild. It’s fun! Editing requires a different skill set, though. It demands focus and critical thinking.
Now, don’t let anyone discourage you: A first draft can be good. It can even be great. But even the greatest first draft will benefit from review and revision.
The more distance you can put between yourself and the feelings of protection you have for your first draft baby, the better off you’ll be when it comes to editing. You’ll be able to see things more clearly, understand when and where some parts need to change. You’ll also be able to better understand when things don’t need to change. That’s equally important because – and trust me on this – after you’ve been in the edit phase for a while, there is a part of you that will despise your story. And that’s totally normal.
For now, though, I’m still deeply in love with this story and its characters and their world. I hope that others will fall in love with them someday, too. After the story’s been edited, of course.
After 253 days, over 96,000 words, and 32 chapters, the first draft is done.
I had to write that twice because I can’t quite believe it.
I know that there are scary and infuriating things happening in the world and in my country in particular. And I am frightened and furious over many of them. But I also think it’s important to celebrate our wins when they happen. For me, finishing a draft is always something to celebrate.
Writing brings me a very particular kind of joy. The forming of ideas and committing them to paper, especially in the form of a story, is a feeling for which there is no equal, for me. It’s especially significant that I’ve finished this original story on the day that was my aunt’s birthday.
My aunt passed away in 2022. She was an artist not exactly like me, but she was someone I could talk to about my art and creative process. I can’t do that with many people in my life. She was one person who was content to just listen to me, though. She liked hearing about how I came up with characters, the way I thought through plots, my interest in research and the significance of names. There are many days when I wish she were still here, but this day – her birthday and the day I finished this story – is a hard one to be without her. I like to think that she’s glad I stuck to my guns and saw this one through.
My ending word count as of 11:17 am ET: 96,568.
This is only the first leg of this story’s journey. From here, I need to move into the edit process. I’m not afraid of it, though. I know that there are chunks of this story that I need to fix, but I want to bask in this feeling of accomplishment for a little while, at least. I think I’ve earned it.
There are lots of people I need to thank for their support on my journey thus far. My partner, my writer friends, my story coach, my artist. Everyone who’s followed along with this blog experiment and dropped me a note, shared my progress, or even just clicked a heart.
If you’d like to follow my editing process, drop me a line here or on any of my other media so I’ll know to share how things are going. In the meantime, as the Muppets once sang, keep believing, keep pretending. Do what you set out to do.
I’ve spent the last 6 months or so over on Substack, keeping a log of my Writing Accountability Project for my current work in progress (WIP), the murder mystery/thriller/adventure novel that I’ve been banging around since last year.
When I started writing the draft in earnest in June of this past year, I had a goal of finishing the story by December 31. As it is now December 31, and I have not finished the story draft, I obviously have not completed that goal. But I am close! I started out with 0 words, and I put together nearly 75,000 in these past 6 months. In reality, I wrote about twice that, but I’ve struck roughly 67,000 words as being not good enough for the first draft. Those deleted phrases, sentences, paragraphs, and scenes go into my “Scrap” file, which I sometimes return to over the course of revision, or when I move on to a new story but like a previously-used turn of phrase, description, or dialogue.
Substack doesn’t get me much, so I’ve considered exporting those posts and just putting everything here on my own website. Of course, this place doesn’t get much traffic, either, but it is the repository I want for all of my stuff eventually, and it is a site I can control, unlike anywhere else on the World Wide Web. So, I’ll be putting some effort into some sort of organization for this place and the up-and-coming stories I’ve got in mind.
2024 was a solid step toward me reaching the writing goal of finishing this original story. I hope that 2025 will see it move closer to publication.
I made some other strides in 2024, too! I finally finished “Without Wings” and got it to paperback status, including a gorgeous commissioned cover. There was also the set of character illustrations I had done, from another artist, for my mystery story. In all, a good year for creativity and sharing the joy of storytelling.
My goal for 2025? Write well, write often, write fearlessly. Because every story matters.
I recently pushed to paperback printing my third novel-length DC fan fiction project, Without Wings. This particular story went through three separate revisions over the course of three years. If you’re curious about the plot, visit the page linked to above.
One thing I did differently for Without Wings was to commission an artist for the paperback’s cover:
I was introduced to the unique style of Ness, Bats in the Belfry Art, through a poster she did for the Cybertronic Spree’s “Ravage” album. From that, I gushed over the other work on her website, and picked up a few of her zines and smaller prints. But there was something special about her line art and color work that stayed with me.
I did the covers for all my other printed works, either by hand or from using stock images. They’re okay – serviceable – though I dare say that the cover for Baby, You’re Making Me Crazy is the most fun, as it gets the closest to a comic drawing. For months, I tried to come up with a similar idea for my Golden Eagle story. I knew it had to feature Eagle in some fashion, but I also wanted it to showcase the two main supporting characters, Veranyi and M’Rayeh. When I remembered Ness’s art, I decided to reach out to see if she was interested.
To my utter delight, Ness accepted the job! She sent me three thumbnail ideas: one of Eagle in his armor, one with his wings and axe, and one with his helmet, with Veranyi and M’Rayeh in reflection. I liked all of the thumbnails, but the helmet one really grabbed me. I told Ness to pursue the helmet one, and in less than two weeks, it was real. And beautiful, I should add, far beyond what I could have hoped for! It’s such a gorgeous painting, I decided not to put any title text on it, just left it be in all its colorful glory.
Ness created something wonderful, a collaboration between my words and her artistic skill. That’s a synchronicity that you can only achieve with a real artist. I knew that any generative AI image wouldn’t be able to capture the feeling I wanted this cover image to convey, let alone give it any personality. If you’re considering creating a cover or any supplemental art for your next story or writing project, I urge you to go to a real artist. Find one who can bring your vision to life with their unique style. They are out there.
I couldn’t be happier with this cover to Without Wings. And I’ve got a real, human artist to thank for that.
The “Writing Accountability Project” is a catalog of my process and progress for my supernatural murder mystery/thriller novel I’m currently working on (2024).
demanding responsibilities made their personal time precious, so when they did have the opportunity for lovemaking, they made the most of it. No fussing with witty foreplay or coy dancing around the subject. When he’d knocked on her door that evening, announcing his arrival with a subdued clearing of his throat, she’d yanked the door open in only her dressing gown, snatched him by his tie, and hauled him inside in one swift progression, silencing any potential protest with the press of her lips. He’d fumbled out of his suit like a clumsy schoolboy, matching her nakedness quickly if not gracefully.
Once in her bed, he was careful not to huff on top of her, worrying she’d think him a beast. Not that she was any waif or naif! She clutched his hand over her breast and knew how to angle her hips so his single-minded thrusting would hit the spot of her utmost pleasure. When he crested the ridge of his first coming, he wasn’t alone: she tensed and shuddered with him.
The second time, after compliments and cigarettes, she pushed him to his back so he could watch her writhe until the temptation of her rigid nipples became too much for his resolve, and he lunged up to latch his mouth to one and then the other while she squeezed her powerful thighs around him like a vise. They had to stop when their bucking threatened the bolts on the bedframe, leading to a paranoid pause that they soon broke with laughter. Their rolling began afresh then, and they found a gentler mutual rhythm that pushed them to that well-sought point of trembling, blinding joy.
Settling side-by-side, they traded whispered nothings to the ticking of the bedside clock. Tender kisses and dallying caresses conspired to bring them together for a third time, though this one was measured and slow despite the evaporating minutes.
She eased away, too soon,
leaving him with the expected explanation of needing to freshen up before work. He lingered in her bed, faintly drowsing to the smell of the sheets, sweat, and sex. Though, when the water to the shower cut off, he lurched up to get a few final moments with her.
She stood in front of the mirror in a simple white slip that fit her body like a lady’s opera glove, applying a sweet-smelling lotion to her face, neck, and chest. Her eyes flashed to his reflection. “You want to use the shower?”
“I’ll shower at home,”
he said as he came behind her.
She snickered. “Are you sure? You’re rank.”
“Well, you smell beautiful.” He wound his arms around her and pulled her close with a lascivious growl. “Just rub on me a bit.”
“Jim!” Her laugh became a clicking scold. “My shift starts in less than an hour.”
He held on and dipped his nose into her thick fall of hair, still loose and flowing from her crown. “Bugger your shift,” he mumbled there. “I haven’t seen you all week!”
Her willing humor dissipated with a blink. “That’s not fair. You could have come by earlier.”
“I couldn’t have, though!” he protested as she slipped free and away back into the bedroom, to collect her hairbrush. “Chief ordered us out to a round at The Ram’s Head, and I couldn’t well say no, now, could I?”
She stopped and gave him a blank stare. “He ordered?”
He adjusted his shoulders; that look of hers had a way of making him feel vulnerable. Doubly so since he was standing there without even his pants. “Well, maybe not ordered.”
She nodded and started brushing. “Ah hah.”
“It’s a political thing.”
“Since when are you so engaged in office politics?”
“Since the last time they passed me over for promotion for not playing their bloody game!”
“Don’t get angry at me for that,” she snapped with the head of her brush, then returned to grooming.
He clamped his mouth shut and
lowered his head. Drawing a cleansing breath, he followed her to the modest vanity set across from the bed and said, half-pleading, “I don’t want to be stuck a sergeant for the rest of my life. I’m good at this job! But I consistently go unrecognized because they think I’m too clever, or too keen, or too—”
“Or too much a sarcastic know-all?”
“You know what it’s like. You complain to me all the time about being kept on bedpan and sponge-bath duty.”
She whirled again, brandishing the brush in her hand like a schoolteacher’s pointer. “Yes, that is frustrating. But what I have to put up with is not at all the same as what you get yourself into by being a confrontational horse’s ass!” She resumed brushing again, firmly and mutely, her long black hair a stark contrast to the white of her slip.
He released a long breath and laid his hands on her shoulders. They looked almost as colorless against her flesh as did her slip.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” he murmured. “You’re right. I am a horse’s ass.”
The brushing slowed but she made no reply. After a pause, he dropped his head and blew a soft whinny against her crown. That, at least, elicited a chortle, and she told him, “You’re doing the wrong end.”
He smiled at her tolerance. “Make you coffee?”
She bobbed her head. “Yes, please.” As he shifted away, she slapped his buttock with the head of her brush. “And put your pants on.”
He sent her his cheekiest smirk over his shoulder and swaggered into her kitchen, leaving his clothes untouched.
Half an hour later, sitting rumpled but
relaxed in her car, he took the opportunity of a red light near the city centre to say, “Policeman’s ball is next month. Would you like to go with me?”
She turned to him with a cautiously curious look in her large brown eyes. “That’s an awfully important political event, isn’t it?”
“It’s also boring as hell. Or, it will be, without you.”
As she faced front to move through the green light, he caught the subtle crease of a dimple. “Will you dance with me?”
He kept watching her and smiled, too. “If you’re brave enough.”
She chuckled and let the car drift to a stop before the traffic circle that would take her on to the hospital. “I’ll wear boots.”
“I’ll try to practice. Thanks for the ride,” he said, and stretched over to press a quick kiss to her cheek.
“Get some sleep!” she told him before he’d finished sliding out from the car.
As if sleep would come to him with her scent still in his nostrils and the taste of her skin still on his tongue and the sensation of her smooth skin still tingling his fingers…! But as he clomped into his quiet, solitary flat, leaving his suit coat draped over the door handle and his keys on the kitchen counter, and made his way to the bed, he barely got his feet up before he fell into a fast and dreamless sleep.
Origins
I originally wrote this sort-of sex scene as a handwriting exercise, letting the words flow freely from my pen to the page during a commute trip. As the words kept coming, though, I sensed the beginnings of a larger story starting to develop. I was already semi-familiar with the characters of Jim and Rose, but this scene solidified them more clearly to me. Before, they were simply sketches. With this, they’re coming into their own. I’ve already written more for them, a continuation of their prospective larger story that looks at a larger cast, higher stakes, and maybe even a mystery or two.
If this little scene piqued your interest, let me know in the comments below! I’m curious to learn if others are as curious to tread farther into Jim and Rose’s world as I am.
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