How Writing A Book Is Like Falling Down

I am clumsy. I don't mean I bump into things every now and then, or drop things here and there. I am full-blown, Bella Swan clumsy. I laughed when I first read Twilight and saw the description of Bella's frequent injuries and mishaps. I was sure that Stephenie Meyer had been studying me when creating the character. Too bad I don't have a sparkly, hot guy watching me while I sleep, though (insert awkward pause, here). But I fall down and run into walls and trip and slip and drop things and let office chairs almost break my leg while sitting in them A LOT. Plus I'm fair skinned, so my bruises show up like spotlights in a country field at midnight. 

Anyway, I have been writing a book for the past two years. I can't quite get the ending right, but I am pretty much DONE with the book (well, the first draft, anyway). I have rewritten this thing at least four times, and I finally have gotten it where I want it to be. (You are probably wondering why in the heck I am using clumsiness as a metaphor for writing, but I'm getting there, I promise).

While writing this book, which happens to be my first novel, by the way, I have hit so many bumps along the way. I have wanted to write a novel since I was senior in high school, when I wrote my first children's book. Writing the children's book was hard (because it had to rhyme) but I wrote the first draft in about 5 hours, and the revisions only took about a week. That was nothing compared to writing this novel. I think my revisions will go a little smoother, but this first draft has just about KILLED me-- like the time I slipped and fell down this waterfall:

 AHA! I told you I would get there eventually! (And yes, that really did happen, but I walked away with only a few scratches and a REALLY nasty/cool bruise on my hipbone. I don't recommend trying to take a pretty photo on the slippery rocks of a waterfall, btw.)

I have walked along in my life falling and tripping and bruising until it became a routine thing for me. People knew when I was coming to watch out for me because we might both end up on the ground with a lump on the head, and not even know how it happened in the first place. This is what my writing has been like: a routine, falling-down-and-unable-to-get-up situation. I knew what I wanted to do, but I couldn't quite get there without ending up sprawled out on the floor with a new injury. 

The first draft was terribly sad. The main character's ex-boyfriend killed himself, all of her best friends, and tried to kill her, but she survived. She walked around in life sad and refusing to talk, but started seeing a boy in her dreams that eased her pain a little. I re-read and re-read this version of Wicked Illusions and tried to find a way to make it happier, but it depressed me. So I started over.

The second draft was told from a boy's POV instead of a girl's. The plot was basically the same except murder spree didn't happen to the boy, it happened to his cousin and he started dreaming of a girl who eased his pain. It was a little less depressing since he wasn't completely catatonic like the MC in the first draft, but it was still too sad, and too hard for me to write this particular story from a boy's POV. So I got up off the floor and started over again.

The third draft was a little closer to how Wicked Illusions is now, but still very different. I won't go into too much detail about it, but the plot was basically non-existent, and it was kind of boring and pointless. BUT I'd created this neat little creepy town that I really loved. And that was enough to spark a little nugget of a story and move on and start over AGAIN.

The fourth draft is what I am working on now, and it is better than ever. It still needs a lot of work, but it definitely has more potential than any of the other drafts.

But every time I started over and wrote a new draft, it was like falling down face first on a concrete floor. Pain and blood and bruising that left little marks on my skin (i.e. my ego) that left me crying and embarrassed. I didn't want to get up and let everybody see what a mess I'd made of myself. But the thing is, you HAVE TO GET UP. You can't just lay there in a pile shame and humility and let everyone point and laugh. 

Even if you make some awful mistakes and think that you can't drag yourself out of that hole you've just fallen into, you have to persevere and claw your way out. No mistake is permanent-- in writing, anyway. You can always hit the delete button and write something ten times better than before, just as you can pull yourself off of the floor, smooth your hair, say, "I meant to do that", then walk away dignified. 

Even if you hurt yourself (and it WILL hurt) along the way, put on a fresh bandage and keep going. Because falling down only teaches you to avoid that crack in the floor the next time you walk by it.

In case my metaphor isn't clear, because I tend to ramble sometimes: If your first draft sucks like mine did, delete delete delete until you get it right. You can do it! It just takes a lot of practice. Gracefulness must be earned in many aspects of life, like writing-- and walking, for people like me and Bella Swan.