Musings on Revision

I was intrigued by a post on LiveJournal (http://beckylevine.livejournal.com/55417.html) on the sticky note/large pad revision process, as I’ve been involved in one type of revision or another all summer. I have always told my writing group that I greatly prefer revision to initial writing, as I know what I’m working with, but lately revision has felt harder, perhaps because I’m not so easily filling in “the gaps” I see, which Becky referred to in a previous post. But persevere we must. I think of writing, especially in the revision process, as giving birth, final stage. You are pushing, pushing, pushing for that extra revealing detail, the character description or dialogue that will bring the person in your mind to life, the plot point that will push your theme where you want it to be, and at the same time add suspense and motivation to the reader. Sometimes, as I struggle over a section of my work that is flat, underwritten, or just plain bad, I mutter, “Push, push, push” to myself and write anything–just anything, to try to get the process flowing. It’s like an improv game I’ve learned. Two people start a scene with a prompt. They’re at the gas station, or a bowling alley. They start to talk, and if a third person, the moderator, doesn’t like what one of them says, they ring a little better, and the person has to come up with a different line, each time, taking the scene in a new direction.

Another revision model that has been helpful in keeping me going is the music metaphor. My children are both musicians. They’re always excited when they learn a piece well enough to “perform” it, which means getting the notes, the tempo, the dynamics and the technique with some fluidity. But that’s when the real learning begins, the nuances and the shading. That’s when they’ll start practicing the same passage over and over again to refine the technique and get just the right expression. And then, when they perform the same piece, viva la difference! Not that it was bad, the first time. But now there’s depth. And sometimes, just like in writing, their teachers will tell them to put a piece away to “season” it. And when they come back to it a few months or years later, it might take a while to relearn some of the notes, but ultimately the final performance is deeper, stronger, better, because they’ve learned a few things along the way that they can bring to the piece.

So, when I’m struggling, I like to think of writing like that. I like to think about the first time I heard my daughter play Debussy’s Clair de Lune, and how she plays it now, months later. I keep the vision that all this work will ultimately make the final product better, deeper, even if I have to rewrite the same chapter twenty, or thirty, or even one hundred times.