At this point, I suppose that I’ve been writing for long enough that I tend to feel a bit of relief when I chop up and rewrite entire chapters during the editing process. I don’t have the same emotional attachment to words that I used to have when I was younger. I don’t think about the time and energy that was initially invested in writing them anymore — it’s all part of the process.
Instead, I care more about telling the story the way it wants to be told.
It often seems like every other writer needs to cut out paragraphs and scale back on superfluous prose during their editing process, and I have seen quite a few blog posts on the internet that make me wonder how someone can take so long to say so little. When I was in college, one of my classes required a 400-word essay, and all the other students complained about how hard it was to write something so short. Most people naturally write long.
Me? I’m the exact opposite. I adore being concise.
In fact, my first draft tends to be a little too bare-bones, and the second draft is all about putting in details to improve the pace — I don’t want to leave my readers feeling like they got swept up in a whirlwind of events flying by too quickly to process. My second draft tends to be twice as long as the first, yet still comparatively terse. After all, if *I* get bored of slogging through countless words, then I can’t imagine my readers enjoying it either.
It has dawned on me that thus far, I’ve been painting myself as a ‘generic author.’ Part of that is my compulsive need to stay secretive, especially since I have a book in progress and I don’t want to reveal much about it until its ready. But that doesn’t mean I have to be generic!
My favorite genres are:
Gothic romance
Dark fantasy
Horror
My stories are usually combinations of all three.
I am an eclectic pagan; I read oracle cards, burn incense, and talk to trees. I include a number of elements of spirituality in what I write.
I’m one of those writers that absolutely adores editing — it gives me the chance to slowly think, meditate, and deeply connect with each paragraph without the risk of losing the flow of creativity for the overall story.
When I was a kid, I used to pin my bright yellow blanket around my shoulders (the perfect universal costume, in my humble opinion) and play act having conversations with the characters from my favorite novels. I loved those hours I spent in my room, exploring worlds and “interacting” with Martin the Warrior and Prince Caspian.
One day when I turned ten, I got hold of some lined paper, picked up my favorite maroon marker, and started writing those conversations down. Truthfully I didn’t understand paragraphs back then, or quotation marks for that matter, but that solid block of text was the beginning of my dream.
As I grew, I joined Elfwood and Fictionpress, swapped stories with other teenagers online, took creative writing classes all through high school, and majored in creative writing in college. For me, there were no other career options — I was a writer.
Then life happened.
Somehow, the agonizing moments seamlessly blended into becoming a wife and mother of three, and before I knew it the better part of a decade had passed.
But you know what? Writing is the only thing that gives my life a deeper sense of meaning outside of the ordinary. What would be the point of all the pain and joy if those emotions stayed secretly locked up inside my own head? Sometimes it seems like it’s the only way I can peacefully live with the past.
I have my days of dark depression, when demons loom over me and whisper bleak things in my ear, leaving me too paralyzed to think. Then the sun shines again, I find a quiet moment nestled between games and chores, and I write.
Every time I read a novel, I experience two stories simultaneously — the one that’s written down on the pages of the book, and the one in my head of how I would have written it.
By Autumn Rain 