The First Draft . . .
That’s the thing that I hope for every time that I share the words with the world.
I hope that they’ll read what I’ve written and tell me about the story and the flow and the idea.
It’s one thing to wish for this and to hope for it, quite another to experience it.
“It was a great Story – a great idea – but it was badly Written.”
That’s just – it’s just –
Let’s just say, I felt like a pregnant Mama Bear defending her unborn baby.
It was my idea and it was my Story so who the hell was she to tell me that I told it poorly?!
Who was she to tell me that my characters thought too much and said not enough?
That’s just how my damn lead character was!
But I realized that it wouldn’t have mattered what I did or didn’t say. I may have written the story for myself, but I released it for the Reader. Her opinion was what I wanted.
I wanted her eyes and her Life experiences in the world and her mind and her perspective.
I wanted her to see it all from my eyes, but through her own vision.
And yet, it hurt to hear her say that.
Did I have it in me?
To approach this story from another angle?
Would I be able to progress the story without delving too deep into the minds of my characters?
Would I be able to look at my little darlings and tell them that they weren’t good enough, rip them apart and rebuild them?
Wasn’t that what Art was all about?
Picking up the tool and trying to create a masterpiece and chipping away at it all until perfection was achieved?
Wasn’t Art not just raising it all from nothing, but growing from it too?
What was Art if it didn’t move even a single soul?
So I stretched out over several seats, even with my grumbling and calmed myself down.
Maybe, a little bit, I doubted myself.
And maybe, a little bit, I saw where she was coming from.
And I was thankful.
Most people barely have time to sit down and listen to a pitch for an idea, yet along read a first draft.
Back to the drawing board.
Time to grow.