Chapter, Page 6

This week’s topic: Editing (Part 1). I don’t think any writer enjoys the actual process of editing, just sitting there, going over every single word, over and over and over.... However, we get off seeing that our sentences now run smoother…the words aren’t stilted anymore. In a sense, we’re no different than carpenters who sand down a rough edge. Self-respect and perseverance helps in the editing process because you’re going to want to repeatedly quit, thinking you’re never good enough. I’ve read how many writers handle the editing process, and it comes down to you’ll probably edit a piece at least 15 times. So this is how I do it: Of note, this method is for fiction writing--nonfiction, scripts or poems are an entirely different manner. 1) First draft, as I mentioned previously is by pen and paper—using the computer shifts your brain back and forth from the creative to the editing hemispheres of your brain—don’t edit on your first draft because you’ll have plenty of opportunity for that later; and besides, you’re supposed to be in the creative mode. 2) Type your work. Set it aside (try to set aside what you’ve last written for a minimum of a day, a week or longer is better for editing—you’ll have fresh eyes). 3) Then in double space format, edit from the last sentence of a chapter, to the first sentence. 4) From the first sentence to the last sentence. 5) Then format in 1-1/2 space with the page layout set for two columns, edit from the last sentence to the first (you’ll be surprised at how those inefficient words shake themselves loose). 6) Then from first to last sentence. To be continued…. This week’s tip: It’s very important to keep track of where you are in the editing process, especially if you have twenty-plus chapters in your novel. I’ll send you the grid I use, if you E-mail me at reneesbook@gmail.com, with the subject “Request editing grid.”

*****Isn’t it sad that the man who has everything, continues to expect everything?****

……and became use to the many, many…numerous quiet moments.

Lydia’s odd behavior was illogical because any gal with a pulse would brag to the nation that she was Monty Davis’ lover.

Maybe if women converse about subjects I’d be interested in, I’d respect them more.

And why is it so damn difficult for California to produce one woman who has deep thoughts?

I rolled up the magazine, wanting to smash it against something. Actually, I’d get off if I could swat a certain red-headed beauty. Maybe it would help shake off this feeling that she’s been using me.

But what is she using me for?

I studied Lydia’s magazine photo for more clues as to her true nature. Her perm must have been wound too tight for choosing to associate with that passionflower statement. Or is she remembering the wee hours of New Year’s Eve when she drank too much champagne and seduced me with a fervent passion? I now blame her horniness on the champagne because there was no drinking involved those few occasions we had sex since New Years with Lydia steadily losing her momentum of enjoyment. I was tipsy one that last time we made out, and the sex started off as…just okay…and ended...scary.

I’m not bragging when I say I’m use to better babes in bed.

And shit! I deserve a better lay!

Lydia is like some Jekyll and Hyde sex goddess. Her sexiness is reserved for just the magazine covers. Because when we had sex, she rarely said a word and barely moved a muscle. And the woman poses for magazines with articles that describe ways to drive your man wild. Doesn’t she read any of them?

I know I get hot when my lover yells, “I fucking love you!” Usually, I dislike women cursing, but during sex, vulgar words are acceptable. Unfortunately, sex with Lydia was merely adequate and progressed to nonexistent. My efforts to satisfy the frigid frizzy beauty were wasted because she never lost herself in the scene. Her nipples remained flat, and no creamy honey filled her warm hive.

She either has serious sexual hang ups or her reality is the fake person posing in those photo shoots. During down-and-dirty, true blue sexual intercourse, a gal is supposed to give herself to her man, not remain in total control the entire time.

What’s her problem?

No, what’s my problem?

And why can’t I be satisfied?

Before I turned forty, I decided to change the direction of my life with a goal to finally commit to marr…ah…to be in a stable relationship that should last longer than six months.

Okay, I want to get married!

And stupid me, I actually believed Lydia was my perfect mate.

Maybe every man in the world desires Lydia, but not this man.

Why not! What does she lack?

I can’t think of anything.

What do I want from a relationship?

I haven’t a clue…but my gut knows there should be something more.

So what is the “more” I long for?

Who the hell knows!

Okay, I’ve wasted four and a half months. But I’m positive that when I seriously think about marriage again, I’ll need to date the woman for at least two years, and it wouldn’t hurt to stay a few days in her home either. However, enough time has passed to confirm that Lydia ain’t the right gal for me. I shoved the magazines back into the cupboard and continued on my search for the elusive toilet paper.

“What I actually desire, Lord,” I said out loud, “is a real woman who…whose conversations aren’t boring and…and…and who subscribes to decent magazines.”