You know the story in Greek mythology: Sisyphus, crafty and evil King of Ephyra (Corinth) was sentenced to roll a giant boulder uphill in the Underworld forever, for tricking Persephone. When he’d almost reach the top, the boulder would roll back down, forcing him to start all over again. Forever.
Writers, do you feel any kinship with Sisyphus yet?
In the last couple of months I have spent a gazillion hours editing. Yep, a gazillion. At least, that’s what it feels like. I am on the third of my own books (and have recently redone the first one I released becuase I got tired and sloppy), and spent about 24 hours (actual hours, not time in a day) editing my husband’s newly released book. I am on the third of these, which is scheduled to begin production work on September 24.
Don’t get me wrong, I know editing is uber-important. I get out my red (and green and purple) pen and go at it. But I will never “like” it, in the sense that time flies by, you feel excited and alive, you’re having fun. Because, well, that’s the writing part. That’s kind of like kindergarten, when you get to use finger paint and Play-Dough and make turkeys from cutouts of your hand. Editing is… the SAT. High school trig. Drivers ed. Necessary but a serious drag.
I have a friend that’s an editor. I have done editing for people since college. I really do get it. Editing other people’s stuff, especially short things like articles and term papers, isn’t so bad. Editing four 90,000 word books in two months is a drag.
Here I go again, pushing that big rock…