We hit a milestone in Milwaukee last Sunday…the equilux, the time of season when day and night come in equal parts. Over the course of the next few months now, the sun will burn brighter, warmer, longer, and the idea of summer won’t seem so impossible.
Hearing about the equilux, I thought of two words Jane Friedman says in a talk on audience development, incremental improvements. And, I was reminded me that life, as much as writing, is about progress not perfection.
In Life
It’s been a long winter here and everywhere else. The slightest hint that things will get better helps. The Spring call of the robin in the morning; sunlight that streams through the bedroom window, no longer filtered by frost; yard litter revealed bit by bit as piles of snow finally melt: random sticks that once guarded the opening of the snow fort, my spade meant for the garden but “borrowed” for a day in order to dig out said fort, sleds discarded and buried and rediscovered along the edge of the driveway. I’ll take those tiny shifts in the landscape, litter and all.
In Writing
Incremental improvements make all the difference in writing as well, and I do best when I remember that phrase. I’m at 6300+ words or into this current (and in much better shape) novel revision. I know, slow-slow-slow, but moving nonetheless. The story is filling out, my confidence growing. I even handed over the first few chapters to a writing friend for critique. That’s progress.
There’s a ton of work to be done yet, more to be revealed plenty to be cultivated. But every inch forward counts.
How does things look for you with a bit more time and a little more sun?
* If you’re struggling with a longer project, consider this guest post by Rochelle Melander, which offers tips on on tackling the big with the little: When Less Equals More.
Revising is a game of attention, and I am easily distracted by clear skies, hot temps, and kids in need of entertaining. We head to the pool. They take to the water, and I take out pages of my novel. Chapter three sits on my lap long enough to soften and curl in the sun. I label this part “boring,” that part ” to move, watch the kids go from deep end to diving board to slide. My pencil gets lost in the towel. In an effort to cool off, I glide into the water and through swarms of bobbing grown ups and babies, then return to find chapter four wet and smelling of chlorine. Good, I think. This book could use a good chemical clean to soak and loosen the muck, to clear away the sludge.
