0.6 Writing Update

Realizing that editing is not a piece of (funfetti) cake.

Cake has always been a tradition for my birthday celebrations. When I was a little girl, my cake was usually a Cinderella-themed confection smothered in whipped cream and filled with strawberries. $18 for a quarter sheet size, no fuss. Nowadays, I’ve surrendered to a gluten-and-dairy-free diet and allergen-friendly cakes can range from $70 to $90. Needless to say—I make my own cake now.

This year, it required more effort than I thought. What should’ve taken me fifteen minutes to prepare a funfetti cake took over an hour. There was a mishap with the eggs—the paleo vanilla cake recipe I selected called for separated egg whites and yolks, but some yolk dripped into the pristine white the first time I dithered around with the eggs and then I had to start over. Ten minutes later, the yolk accidentally mixed in with the whites again. Internal screaming ensued because eggs require an organ donation or something to buy them these days. One cannot simply waste eggs anymore.

My entire countertop looked like someone had ransacked my cabinets. Flour dust everywhere, lids and caps scattered about, sticky vanilla extract pooling on the counter, the dry mixture in the bowl congealing together like cookie dough. I worried about the cake as it sat in the oven, wondering if its texture and taste were ruined.

It ended up being acceptable—as in, edible—and I rallied myself to paint some of it in frosting. Maybe it’s a knife/spatula issue, and I don’t have those lazy Susans that you can turn as you carefully scrape buttercream off the sides, but it’s safe to say that I’m not very good at frosting. Usually, my cakes look roughened up. This one was no exception, joining the Grunge Sponge Club.

At least if you looked at it, you knew it was a cake. The crumb seemed soft enough, with a hint of vanilla. But I wouldn’t say that I particularly enjoyed putting it together. The activation energy to even grease the pan seemed to sap too much out of me. I glanced at the time on my phone often, impatient for the moment when the batter plopped into the pan and got whisked into the oven. I just wanted it to be over.

Editing my third draft has been like laboring over this birthday cake, where the process feels stodgy and I’m not swooning over the result. It just has to be done to get on to the next, better version. I don’t have it in me to nitpick and figure out plot holes, just like how I didn’t bother with getting the egg whites fixed properly and swathing the entire cake in buttercream. The editing is simply…bland.

I’ve caught myself fiddling a lot with chapters that don’t seem to drive the plot forward, but then a later part of the narrative needs some context to set it up, so maybe those stalled chapters are important, and then my brain starts whirring too fast—you know what I mean?

The beginning and end of my story seem clear to me—it’s the middle part that’s giving me grief. As I’m navigating multiple plot point threads and trying to connect them, I feel like I’m tangling them up into a giant knot. Maybe I need some space from the manuscript, but I’ve done that already. Or maybe I just need to re-examine my outline. If anyone has tips, please let me know in the comments!

I’m also learning that it’s all right—perhaps better, even—if editing feels difficult. It means that I care deeply about my work and the transformation in the end will be glorious. The manuscript might just need a different perspective or a new strategy. Perhaps it’s just bad and we have to start over again. Either way, the story will improve somehow.

I also need to lay down my own pride. You’re not a bad writer, Melody, just a confused one. Struggling is normal. You will be all right.

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Victories

• One of my essays has been published elsewhere! Full disclosure—it’s a very small digital magazine, but it feels refreshing to see my work acknowledged in some way. You can find it here with Seven Story Publishing.

• I have a supportive, warm community of friends and family who always believe in me, even when I don’t feel like it. As I told some of them about my essay on Seven Story’s page, they pointed out some truths that made me see how I was minimizing my accomplishment and griping instead of truly celebrating. A “silver lining” mentality is better for me in the long term.

Fears

• I have some February goals to read a book on writing craft, finish my third draft, and submit another essay by the end of the month. I have eight days left. This should be interesting!