Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Revise, revise, revise

Mes Amis

The worst thing about writing is rewriting.


The worst thing about rewwriting is: where do you stop?

I've been working on a short for a bit now. I've had some comments on it. I've had my own worries. I've changed characters, chopped it around, messed with the timeline, changed legal facts to match up roughly to reality. And then I sent it away.

The trouble is I still don't know it its done. I never do. When I send a short away or a draft of a novel (Reader reports are trickling back on THE GOOD SON including an amazingly passionate (and actually convincing) political interpration along with anal approaches to dialogue and location and questions as to whether I have any admissions to make about some kind of double life as a criminal: all great stuff and shows me exactly the areas I need to work on to make it stronger and tighter) I always worry that its not yet ready. I've done what I can yet I can't help but feel like maybe I could do more. I start changing tiny words. I start worrying about whether a character is left or right handed. And then I send it off. And then I think about what more I could have done and whether the piece is suitable and...

Ahhh, I just hope the piece I sent off tonight (which I really want to work for the market for which it was intended) goes down well with the editor. Its the waitng bit I hate.

In other news I have been reliably informed I may not have made a mistake in REGRETS so that's good.

And I have come to the conclusion that a good ninety percent of true crime books are really poorly written. With the exception of books by wonderful ex-Dundonian (although in her heart, I suspect she's never left), Carol Anne Davis. She manages to maintain an interesting writing style with a distance from her subject that never once dilutes the emotional impact of what she's writing about.

Really, in research for THE GOOD SON I've had to plough through some nonsense including a book about London gangsters where all these hard spoke in gramatically correct sentences, never once contracting a word or anything.

Right, I'm off to worry about whatever I submit next (probably a draft of THE GOOD SON off to the people who really have to like it before it can go any further...)

Au revoir



Sweary Ray said...

It's a common misconception that Geordie hardmen all talk with an accent, when in fact they sound like Raffles The Gentleman Thug: "Might I humbly inquire if you may perchance be passing a hospital on your way back to your domicile? If you are, then you can endeavour to get them to STITCH THAT, YA CUNT!"

John R. said...

"I say, my good man. I humbly suggest that you may be returning to your lodgings in FUCKIN' AMBULANCE, LIKE!"