I finished up editing the Worst Dog-- well, editing is never 100 percent done, but go with me on this-- and started to dig into the Hearse. When I read parts of this novel, I have these moments. Wow, I wrote that, I think and then I set at the cafe`, computer and printouts spread over enough space for four people, coffee cooling (I have a confession, I much preference the smell of coffee to the taste) and play solitaire.
I've been in this funk for a few weeks. I couldn't pin down exactly what is was because you know, I want to edit it. I want to put my new skills to the old grindstone. Instead, I scrubbed my bathroom walls, emptied all the kitchen cabinets and wiped down the shelves, and scrubbed all the places in between.
Finally, during one of my solitaire marathons I was able to pin down what this thing is. I don't like to abandon my old work, but my new work is... I hesitate to say better. Lets go with different. It's different in a way that's good and working on it feels like I'm moving forward. Working on the old stuff feels in many ways like retracing my steps.
I recognize that none of my first novels are literary masterpieces. I had decided to clean them up and submit them to agents which I haven't really done and editors which I haven't done at all. I'd even be happy just self-publishing them. I believe in my heart of hearts there is a reader for every story, even the bad ones and connecting with that one read whom the story is meant for... well that's what rocks this story teller's world.
And this is a lot of words to say, I want to move forward and backward at the same time.