I think -- with all the rearranging and rethinking -- that it’s been at least a year that I’ve read the novel from start to finish.
Oh my lord, people. So, so bad. Forget Anne Lamott and her “shitty first draft.” I’ve got a “shitty fifth draft.”
And it’s obvious stuff. The first line, the one that’s been re-written more than all the rest?
The train engineer might have thrown the brake, but my body still moved full speed toward Oklahoma City. It didn’t feel like full speed; time slowed while I flew toward the seat back one row ahead.
I thought, “What? Why not just say ...”
The train engineer might have thrown the brake, but my body kept moving toward Oklahoma City. I felt like it took forever to slam into the next row of seats.
My plan for the day was to work on the new gap I have after the first plot point. I have to explore her feelings when her husband disappears. I was dreading writing new stuff. I might prefer it to re-writing old stuff.