take me where i cannot stand

The point at which I start thinking, “…oh…well…yeah, that looks fine…” is the point at which it’s time to be done revising for the day. My brain doesn’t clear up after that, so all I end up doing is staring at manuscript pages I’m going to have to go over again tomorrow.

I’ve added about 3300 words to the manuscript and actively subtracted, in chunks, maybe a thousand, so I’m probably up about 4K on wordcount. No really significant changes to the story, but I think I’m managing to add in motivational details and worldbuilding stuff that will resolve most of my editor’s issues. I have, at least, taken care of her big problem (and I’m happier with it too), so maybe that’ll cut me some slack on some other things. :)

I’ve got to go shop. There’s no food left in this house.

ytd wordcount: 370,400

7 thoughts on “take me where i cannot stand

  1. If you cut more than you added, would you subtract that negative number from your ytd wordcount? Or do subsequently-cut words still count as written words, for the purposes of counting? (I know my answer to this – work is work and words are words, whether or not they survive a later cull; they have been written, and so are counted – but I find that other people sometimes think differently from me. And I don’t maintain a ytd…)

  2. They still count, ’cause I wrote ’em. The trick is remembering not to count them again if I manage to work them back in later in the book…

  3. Hee. I don’t know, though – are you sure they don’t count twice, if you write ’em twice…? (he said, laying temptation in her path)

  4. As a computer programmer, I sometimes come across people who think my productivity should be measured in LOC – lines of code – per day.

    I consider any day in which I have removed a few hundred lines as being an especially productive one.

  5. Programming is sometimes a little like poetry: just as the best poetry is that which can say everything in as few words as possible, so a really good piece of code is like a haiku.

    Except usually without the cherry blossom.

  6. Durn tootin’. Less is frequently more in fiction also (tho’ not always – sometimes less is just less). I don’t remember who, but A Poet was once asked about his working practices; he said (and I do hear this in an Irish accent), “Well, in the morning I hope to write a word. In the afternoon I expect to strike it out again.”

Comments are closed.