Writing the first draft of any piece is easy for me. Some artists open the door of their creativity and freeze in front of the blank screen, white page or empty canvas like they've just stepped out into a blizzard without their boots and mittens. Not me.
I look out on that vast emptiness thrilled that I will be the first human to make fresh tracks in new snow. I leap forward. I dance out the door so full of ideas I leave prints criss-crossed and circling until sometimes it's hard to follow me. You know that cartoon "Family Circus," and the kid they trace with little dashes all the places he goes during his day, leaving a maze only he can retrace? That's me writing my first draft. I am happily lost in the wilderness of a freewrite, of not thinking, of letting the ideas course through my veins and fly out my fingertips without left brain interference. Pure, unbounded freedom of expression. I can really get down with that.
I find words and images everywhere. Feelings are as visible as breath in the freezing air. I spent two hours in a coffee shop the other day and wrote four rough drafts of poems. "Rough" is the operative word here. For these happy tracks to become real poems, a labyrinth someone else can follow in order to find the meditative center, the hidden treasure, they need (dare I breathe the word) revision.
Think about that word, "revision." In its simplest form it means "seeing it again." I love the initial vision, the dream, the breakthrough. Good writing requires us to look at what we've done again (and again) closely, with a willingness to pare away the excess; to find what's unnecessary and cut it out. We must be willing to throw a lot of words and images on the brush pile and burn them in order to find the essential core of the poem or piece of work. Think of it as a "bonfire of the vanities." It will keep you warm while you continue to work on your revision.
Anybody who has read my work knows this is not my forte'. This is why I require help. I have a writing group who kindly critiques my poems and pieces and lets me know what works and what doesn't. I have a writer spouse whose parting cry after reading my work is often, "Cut, cut, cut!" And I have my own determination to make the best poem or essay possible.
Revision is where the work, the real nitty-gritty, no guts no glory drudgery begins. It's true that some people love this part. They are the opposite of me. They may be terrified of the unbroken snow of a blank page, but they love to fix stuff. Their left brains click in, their little inner perfectionists grin and rub their tiny hands together, and they throw out useless words and phrases as easily as if they were born to find fuel for a bonfire. And as hard as this is for the "natural," it is a crucial part of the creative process.
The next several posts will deal with revision. I'll tell you my experience; what helps and what doesn't. Keep in mind that you don't want to burn something beautiful in your efforts to prune the grove. So always copy your initial work as is, save it, and check back to make sure you haven't lost a needed branch of your initial vision.
Here's an idea. Pick a recent rough draft or untouched poem of your own. First save it; then work on it as you read the posts. I'll do the same. Let's see if my suggestions can help us re-vision our pieces.
—Mendy Knott is a writer, poet and author of the collection A Little Lazarus (Half Acre Press, 2010). To order your copy of A Little Lazarus directly from the author, please click here.
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