So, not to belabor the point, but editing your own writing, your own work, sucks. There are no congratulations or pats on the back. What you hear is, "great book, but on page 33, you misspelled a word."

Believe it or not, that one misspelling goes through several separate edit reads; I call them proofings. First, it's written for the content, not the grammar, shudder to think, right.

 

Then when I reach somewhere around thirty thousand words or so, I crave to read it, and I do. This on-screen read allows for content notes of importance, things that need tidying up, or further embellishment. By the time that read is complete, I want to get back to writing.

Yes, it is a love-hate relationship with editing. Storyline and continuity, as in-action and conversation, matter the most. The narrative plays out in softer, smother places, letting the reader slow down and catch a breath.

 

Then a marathon of writing gets you to about 60 thousand words; this is where it gets tough. All these ideas for an ending, and none seem to work out right in your head. As you close in on the finish, the onscreen editing has occurred at least three times. Grammarly™, relentless in its assistance as you write, screaming at you about using passive voice or worse, an incomplete sentence and the dreaded dangling participle, whatever that is.

 

Once declaring ‘The End’ you print all few hundred pages, and you get out your red pen. On my fights to Texas to sign papers on the RV, now being called Georgette, or is it, George. It depends on who is talking. Personally, all motorized conveyances are female, cantankerous, and sometimes lovingly getting you somewhere. In mostly aisle seats, somehow, they know people over a certain age, prefer it, I drew the attention of the aisle seat next to me.

 

“Are you an editor or publisher?”

“No, sorry, this is my work.”

“I picture an editor doing what you are doing.”

“Ok.”

 

I wasn't rude; the pitch was coming, and it did.”

 

“No, sorry, I won’t read your book.”

So as I sit here writing this BLOG, know my perfectly aligned and shuffled manuscript waits for me to begin the process of editing. I hate it. The problem is; it is part of writing.

 

“Hey you, its 4 am, and you woke me up, let’s get busy.”

“Shut up; I need to make another pot of coffee.”

 

You see, a manuscript speaks to you, this one screams, “you bit off more than you could chew, you ass.”

 

The reality of Escapees II, which has no cover, no real title was a desire to return to 1984. It was to be a standalone book. As I wrote the 1984 part, I grew a set of cajones and said, “Wait, what if I make a sequel to Escapees and make it huge. Many characters all set in their plot and somehow come together at the end. Sure, I had read books that did this, natural, right?

 

Well, not so fast lame writer, how do you tip off the reader of a change in the sequence of the characters?

It took me a month to figure that out; once I did, it was short hit character-based events, one after the other. I created no less than seven complete character sets within one book. 

 

Caution…here comes the spoiler alert:

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Yes, it starts back where the first book leaves off. There is a wedding. Then it starts shifting as the plot moves forward. A setting of 1984 takes place in New York, Ex-government workers struggling to color between the lines. A complete venue change shifts to a lone submarine, left deep in the ocean, no orders, no place to go. If that isn’t enough, there is a group of farmers, shall we say, in the California mountains, who struggle in this post virus world. One lone wolf begins to plot from within the existing socialist government that took over D.C. One lone wolf, known as Hunter, makes contact with others.

 

Ok, end of spoiler ALERT.

The manuscript is talking to me again, weird, but I should listen and get the novel of suspense and intrigue, oh yea humor too, don’t forget the funny stuff; to market. It should be available by year-end, 2019, if not sooner.