More than just an edit

I'm currently printing out and editing, again, Demonesque.

Chapters one and two were a lot of fun, although I could boost the descriptions a little. Chapter three, I hit a snag, or, more importantly, a Note To Self. It reads: "Find info on Vancouver/Seattle, change home to forested area outside city."

Sigh. I suspect I'm going to find a few of these NTSs from my last edit.

The good news is, obviously I've let the book rest for long enough if I've forgotten the NTSs I made; the bad news is, it means more research and another edit to make sure everything is at it should be.

Why I do this to myself, I don't know... (whinge, whinge, whinge). Actually, I suspect I prefer to write the book, then do the more intensive research. I also think I'm the kind of writer that if I did all the reseach first, I'd get bored with the whole thing and end up not writing it at all.

I know, I know, I should be more focused, but once the bug hits, that's it, I gotta write it all. In my head, I can see everything: characters, scenery, dialogue beginning, middle, and the end I want. I just let my fingers flow across the keyboard until it's done.

And, as always, my laziness comes back to haunt me. Like now. I'm doing that surfing to find what I need and it interrupts the flow of what I'm trying to do.

I could name a few authors for whom edits take on Sisyphean proportions. I'm probably one of them, although I won't go as far as picking to pieces every single sentence to make sure it is absolutely perfect. That's just anal. (Yeah, there's an argument in there, but I'm not playing.)

All I can say is it's a great read, so far. I'm happy with what's happened, what I can see coming up and all the mind games involved.

With an opening like:

“I could take one,” I murmured, “just a small one to taste, to feel the crunch of bone, the spurt of hot, salty blood, the soft flex of muscle. No one would miss one.”

I crouched above the human city, stared down at the walking meat sacks with hooded eyes. The thick, brown claws of my toes and fingers gripped the concrete ledge as I watched the human prey on the street below.

They don’t know I’m up here, I thought with a smirk. Civilised humans, sophisticated humans, ignorant humans, rarely look up, especially in a city. Once they did. Oh, yes, once they did, for death could and did fall from the sky. Snatched them up, devoured them while they screamed, while their blood rained down upon the verdant forest.

Even if no-one else likes this book, I sure as hell do. And so I should stop messin' about, and get on with it. I want to be reminded about what happens next.