Ink Tea Stone Leaf

Depending on what is meant by “write,” I only wrote The Ghost of Canard University once. But in the course of revising it, both on my own and with my editor, I have probably read it through two or three times. There are certain parts of it that I have read at least a dozen times. Under such circumstances, one can quickly tire of one’s own words.

The good news is, despite seemingly interminable delays on my part, my editor remains enthusiastic as the editing process moves on to the second major phase, the copy edit. As of last week the developmental edit has been completed, and I no longer have to think about this project in terms of altering the story by adding or deleting paragraphs, scenes, chapters, plotlines, or what have you. The next time I read the novel through, I need only concern myself with their concerns about my grammar, punctuation, and style, of which there are bound to be many.

I speak pessimistically, even though every exchange with my editor has led me to believe they regard me as a competent first-time novelist. In theory, now that they’ve finished critiquing the plot, themes, and character development, I no longer have cause to feel embarrassed about those things. But can I tell when a semi-colon is merited over an em-dash? Can I maintain consistent tenses and subject-verb agreement over an entire length of text? Can I describe a scene without using the same adjectives ad nauseum? A glance through key scenes in the developmental edit suggests troubling answers to such vital questions.

There are, remarkably, still sentences in the current version of this novel that are straight-up missing verbs. I meant to catch all of those in the first revision I ever did. I begin to wonder if I’ll ever correct them all, or if, despite Canard University‘s finite length, there are in fact infinitely many such errors.

That length, by the way? About 119,200 words. God, it had better be a good story after all.

But putting aside the possible reactions of readers with variable tastes, am I happy with this story as I’ve told it? In setting out to finally write the novel that I meant to write twenty years ago, I ended up spinning a yarn about a boy and a girl with superpowers who can’t seem to put them to any good use. I took a mess of thoughts and feelings all swirling around in my head and turned them into words on a page, where now they lie in stasis. I no longer have any idea how they might sound when a reader revives them in their own brain.

I still think it’s probably pretty good. It’s unlikely to claim a Pulitzer or a Nobel, but maybe somebody will find what they seek in what transpires between its covers. That is, assuming I succeed in getting this book printed inside a proper binding.

Most of all, I’m happy that the story is human. I’m happy that every time I sat down to work on my story, I could live in a world where art is still regarded as the result of human labor and intention, and that I could treat my work as literature instead of industrial product. I’m happy that it took a long time and that I made all the kinds of mistakes that real people make (though I intend to fix them).

Now, while I await the copy edit, I have the opportunity to decide on a case-by-case basis whether my vanity can abide showing it to anybody in the form it currently inhabits: complete in story, sloppily rendered. The most egregious problems probably seem mostly egregious to myself, but damn, do they rankle. I don’t want people getting the idea that I think it’s OK to write half a sentence and never finish it. If I wait a little while longer, perhaps it will be easier.

In my last such post, I described The Ghost of Canard University as a depression narrative. That is certainly true, but it also contains a lot of material that fills me with joy. I’m so pleased that I got to write a novel with super powers, talking zoo animals, tea lattes, weird old music, and first love, while also pondering the nature of reality and morality, and making whatever pretentious or otherwise cringeworthy allusions popped into my head. I’m looking forward to seeing it all done.