Lisa’s notes: I have been sitting on this bit for at least 3 weeks.. My writing process for this novel thus far has been:
1) write free hand. Like old school. Pen on paper. Just write whatever comes to me. I usually do this during the week.
2) On Sunday morning, I then ‘edit’ it when I type it up into the ‘full version of novel’ word document.
3) The next Sunday, I then do nothing else (except spell check) and cut and paste it into Substack and then possibly one quick edit before I press POST.
I usually remind myself too about Anne Lamont’s ‘shitty first drafts’ and also reminder to just ‘ship your writing out.’
This chapter has been different. I keep reading it and I know its not quite right. But then I haven’t been ‘shipping it out. And I am not quite sure what is not quite right about it. I know I keep changing little details – like the name of the cat from Princess back to King Koa back to Princess.. Maybe because some of it is taking me back to a relationship too where I too accommodated, compromised, excused, justified someone else’s behaviour. Maybe it feels too close. I’m not sure.
But I am shipping it out regardless. Perfectionism is a form of procrastination (hence my choice of photo today). I just need to get the full first draft written. If I keep wondering and trying to get it perfect, I will never get this novel finished.
And oh, by the way. I did another REAL road trip up North and I have a plethora of experiences to throw at Moe and Hine when I get them into the car and heading North. Its gonna be a blast.
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Moe:
I feel like I am back at school and the teacher has caught me smoking in the girls toilet. But I’m not back at school. And I am standing in my own home front door way. Standing there with a cigarette in my hands. A lit up cigarette. Henare is standing on the other side of the door, glaring at me. He holds some empty boxes in his arms. My eyes are all puffy from crying. And spewing up. I’m surprised at how much I could spew up.
“I thought you said you quit,” he spits at me.
“I did quit,” I spit back. I look around with what to do with the cigarette. I have been caught and I can feel myself blushing. And then I remember that we have broken up. And he doesn’t get a say in my life anymore.
“And then I un-quit,” I say.
“Well I guess that’s pretty clear you have made your mind up then haven’t you?”
“Made up my mind about what?”
“About the baby.”
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