and so it begins

I thought about it for a few days, planned on this, and now I've started working as of this morning.

The revision work has begun. Look out for Stage Four.

When I start working on a revision, I usually go very slowly on the first day or so. But, then when I get into the rhythm of things, I can sometimes get through 70 or more pages in one day. Seriously.

This one will be a test, though, because the character who tells the story of The Marbury Lens is rather volatile and tilts toward self-destructiveness. So I have to be careful about what this does to ME on the other side of the page, but, at the same time, I realize what's expected of me and know that this manuscript really does deliver.

Just... oh well... Stage Four. Let me apologize in advance. I can already feel it setting in. My editor says this will likely be the final revision, claims to have been "judicious" with the line edits.

That's a funny word. Judicious could be a good thing as it pertains to line edits, or it could mean you totally suck (see Stage Two). In the case of The Marbury Lens, though, I think it may be a good thing. As I flip through the script, I don't see the usual battle map of squiggly pencil marks.

Which maybe means I am learning how to write.

Maybe.

If you get a chance, pop over to my friend Bill Konigsberg's Blog about writing (from October 1). It's really short, but good stuff. I don't know if it's his quote or someone else's, but it is so true what he says about staying in the room.

waiting for me

So there were a few things waiting for me when I got back home from Europe. Most importantly, and surprisingly, all of my animals were still alive and present. Better yet, the cats had not dragged any corpses in through their kitty door.

And, on my doorstep, were piled four boxes -- two cases of audiobooks and two cases of hardback copies of in the path of falling objects. And... yes, you can get it in bookstores now -- so, if your local bookseller isn't shelving it, do everyone in your community a favor -- be a hero to them -- and ask your bookseller to order it in. You will not regret doing so.

And speaking of waiting for me, I'd like to add another comment about yesterday's post about dealing with revisions. I am presently on Stage Two, but I am confident that I will organize my thoughts and get down to actual work on this by Saturday, Swine Flu or no. So, that's waiting for me, too.

I'll be completely honest -- I actually am very eager to work on this enormous thing again, because there's something about it that keeps hooking me in and taking control of me. It's just that when I do these kinds of things, I have to let the ideas (see Stage Two) percolate in my head for a couple of days before I actually sit down to the mental and very physical task of getting it out straight.

If that makes any sense.

So now, the great big giant THEY will have to wait for ME.

And, after one day of work, I will know, exactly to the day, when I will be finished. Yeah... I'm weird like that.

This weekend, look for updates on the Ghost Medicine Website regarding Teen Read Week (October 19 - 23). I've picked up a number of new gigs that week and want to be sure to give props to the schools, libraries, and Mrs. Nelson's Book Store for asking me to participate in this great week for our teen readers.

five steps

Okay. So, the other day I mentioned how I'd received a revision package from my editor, but that I was only in Stage One, so I couldn't really talk about it. Well, I'm over that now and have come to realize that it just may be that I have something important (or not) to say about the writing process for those who aspire to go into this self-flagellating vocation.

First of all, this is my third -- yes, third -- book, The Marbury Lens, which will be coming out in 2010. And, having received the editorial letter, I realized that with every book I've written so far, I have gone through a similar process in dealing with the edits.

A kind of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross 5-step process in coming to terms with working with my editor and revising my work. If you are unfamiliar with Kubler-Ross, she is responsible for identifying "The Five Steps of Grief" -- Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. I think these steps have a lot in common with the revision process, so here I submit MY Five Stages of Coming to Terms with Revisions:

Stage One: "Skimming"

Skimming is the first thing that happens with an editorial letter. During this event, the subject refuses to sit down and actually read the entirety of the letter, choosing instead to skim through it for words like "perfection" and "brilliant." Very much like Kubler-Ross' Denial, during this stage, the subject may also internally vocalize such statements as... Gee, why is this letter so long when it only takes a few words to express how brilliant and flawless my work is? Sheesh... windbag editors!

Stage Two: "I am a Douchebag. I Can't Do This. I am Incompetent. I Totally Suck"

During Stage Two, the subject has actually taken the time to read the fucking letter. This is when he will usually begin to realize that the editorial diagnosis was correct, a second opinion from the buddy who still owes him a six-pack of Coors Light for kicking his ass at Polish Horseshoes is unwarranted, and the editor has made some keen observations -- leaving a trail of Zen-like, unanswerable questions that frequently result in thoughts of suicide, cutting off one's typing fingers and running away to become "Flipper Boy" in the circus, or any number of self-destructive and career-ending missteps.

Stage Three: "Postponing the Deadline"

"If only I can buy more time," the subject bargains with himself during Stage Three, "then maybe I can do something truly significant with my life -- like organizing my iTunes library." It is while in Stage Three that the subject will attempt to devise a deadline date that is either unreasonably impossible to meet, or falls during a time when the editor is on vacation where there are no cell phones or internet access.

Stage Four: "Commencing the Operation"

During this stage, the subject has resigned himself to the inevitable: it's not going to write itself, douchebag. As Kubler-Ross suggests for step 4 of grief, there's no sense trying to cheer the author up at this point, he is going to be a miserable, foul-mouthed, impossible-to-live-with sonofabitch once he actually begins the work and admits to himself, "Gee! I'm on page one of 412. I hate myself. Death is too pleasant an option for someone as wretched as I. Yippee! Now I'm halfway through the first sentence on page one of 412."

Stage Five: "The Revelation"

It all boils down to this: At Stage Five, the subject finally realizes that only now can words like "perfection" and "brilliant" be applied to the work. He has gone through the first four steps, struggled with understanding his directions, and allowed himself to be guided into producing something far better in quality than he might have done on his own.

Unfortunately, he may revert to Stage Two as a result of this revelation.

back to the usa

I am coming back home today, and looking forward to getting caught up on everything I've missed.

I realize, as I wait for my flight, having been thoroughly searched, undressed, and groped by a suspicious BAA staffer, that it isn't at all the truth that I dislike flying. As a matter of fact, I enjoy it. It's just the people on the plane and in the airport that I hate.

Anyway, we're bringing back some souvenirs. My son got a really cool Clash shirt at a record store in London, and he's also bringing the H1N1 virus back, too.

Yeah... fun times.

I mean... do you even really want us to come back?

And last night, I received a lengthy email from my editor regarding the revision work on next year's The Marbury Lens. I'd write about it, but I can't until tomorrow... I am currently only going through Stage One of coming to terms with revisions.

I will clarify tomorrow.

And, finally, I am going to try something. Here... an attempt at a very sizable "I:"

I

Hey. It worked.

That is my preemptive "Big Gigantic I" for when I write about the revision process. It's to preemptively mock any authors who think I'm stupid because, "That's not how I do it."

arthur's day

On Thursday, we celebrated Arthur's Day in Dublin. The city pretty much partied until around 5:00 AM. I don't know if it was an actual "Worldwide celebration," as promised on the billboard, but I don't think anyone in Dublin cared about the extent of the festivities outside their own city.

dublin to london

Everywhere we went in Dublin, people were reading in the path of falling objects. Like this guy here, who took a break from toiling away pulling in barges from the River Liffey.

I have lots of cool stories about Dublin, but I'm saving them for later. One very cool thing, though, is that my daughter lost a tooth in a bar there. Not very many 12-year-old girls can say they lost a tooth in a bar in Dublin.

Now we are in London, enjoying some of the nicest weather I've ever seen in the city -- and it's almost October.

from dublin

Last night, I think everyone in the city must have been walking around with pints of Guinness in their hands. It was quite a remarkable night.

Everyone here is currently sleeping off their jetlag, and our trip was not without its problems.

In Heathrow, somebody else picked up the daughter's suitcase and left with it, leaving the daughter with nothing but the clothes on her back. The people at the airline were very sympathetic, but we also had a plane to Dublin to catch (at another terminal... and Heathrow is bigger than some entire cities).

Almost impossibly, we ran into the suitcase while finding our way to the connection.

So we stole it back.

The son got frisked getting onto the plane for Dublin. Why? Because he was carrying a 6-inch pair of (very sharp I might add) scissors in his backpack. They had been there ever since school... ever since we left Los Angeles.

We debated whether or not to just leave him in jail. Heck, it was Guinness Day in Dublin and the pints were free.

Now, this morning, I realize I've left my camera's USB cable at home, so I can't put up any pictures from the old Nikon until I get back to the States. I do, however, have an iPhone, with which I took a picture of this amazing urinal last night at some place where we were drinking beer that was very dark and had a pudding-like skin on top.

Oh yeah. That is the god of urinals.

An army could piss into that all at once.

And why, you might ask, were there no supplicants at the porcelain altar? Duh... because I was taking a picture of it.