Last week, I finished the rewrite on a new book. It’s one I once told myself I would never do. By this, I mean something in the same rhyming verse as Zorgamazoo. But of course I was up against an old adage, something about the merits of saying “never.”
When I sent off the revised manuscript—which was quite extensive and more than doubled the length of the short first draft—I was elated. I was so happy, in fact, that I wondered if it was possible to become addicted to finishing books. After all, writing is long, lonely work. The same project dominates your life for weeks and weeks, possibly years. Whatever comes out on the other side, no matter how mangled and incoherent, seems pretty miraculous.
In my case, what came out on the other side was a floor covered in orange paper. Why orange? Because when I ran out of white, that was the colour of the paper I found in the furnace room that adjoins my apartment—meaning it was free.
These are pics of the rewrite, mind you, not the whole book. If anyone’s interested, my process involves printing off the existing draft and then working out changes and new verses by hand. When that’s done, I type up the material I like best (editors don’t love it when you submit in pencil, FYI).
The working title for this book is Prince Puggly of Spud and the Kingdom of Spiff. (Heh!) It should emerge from its cave, blinking and disoriented and ready for bookstores, sometime in early 2013.