i am in the deep end and i cannot swim.

in other words, i'm getting ready for revisions.

I know the title is, like, uber dramatic but that’s how I’m genuinely feeling about diving into revising and creating draft three of Project Eden. Oh! Yes, I finished draft two. You can watch it happen here and you can watch me hold my bound copy in my hands here.

Now, onto more important things — like my inevitable crash out and the self-doubt spiral I will no doubt endure as I switch from trying to make my story exist to making it make sense.

Step 1: Deep breath; toes over the diving board.

This is will be the first time I revise a body of my own work of this size — hence why i’m feeling a little bit out of my depth here.

I’ve been slowly making my way through a reread of draft two, I am about 40% of the way done, and I am noticing…a few things. While the book is structurally in a much better place than draft one was, the whole thing feels more like a smattering of scenes with the occasional banger paragraph rather than a fluid story. I am not beating myself up for that. My main goal for draft two was to make it exist in a way that was malleable; where I could see all of the potential. In that sense, I do feel like I’ve succeeded.

And even though I am noticing all the flaws, that doesn’t mean I’m getting discouraged. Quite the opposite — I feel like this means I know my story well enough to bring the vision to life. Which, in my book (lol), is an enormous win! Knowing what doesn’t work is just as important to knowing what does work.

Up until this point, the drafting process was all I knew. I’ve completed 3 other drafts prior to finishing draft two of Eden (which is the most coherent, book-shaped draft I’ve ever completed), so I felt like I had developed the muscle of getting the words down. Making sense of them however…

Step 2: Arms extended, body suspended, & bracing for impact.

One of my biggest goals in between finishing draft two and starting draft three was to take some time to improve my writing craft on a technical level. I’ve always been a fast learner and, thankfully, I’ve always loved learning, so I was really looking forward to spending some time learning how to level up as a writer.

But it feels like theres so much to learn. Too much, even. What if I never learn everything I want or need to? What if I don’t learn enough to make this book as close to perfect as I can make it? Am I reading the right books? Am I listening to the right podcasts?

Then I came across this post that called me out. It said: you haven’t started because you’re scared to find out you’re not special. You stay in the idea of who you could be because becoming it would require you of letting go of who you’ve always been. While this was specifically calling out the idea of individuals not letting go of their comfort zones out of fear for not being special, I realized I was equating this to my feelings with draft three.

What if I pour all this time into revising it and it’s still not good?

I’m straddling the line of being adequately prepared to jump into something completely new that requires an entirely new set of skills that I’ve yet to fully hone, and also being terrified that my story just isn’t that good. That I’m just not that good of a writer. That no matter how much I can see the the statue hidden inside the block of marble, I’ll never be able to chisel it into existence.

I get whiplash every time I go anywhere near my project. I go from thinking “I can totally do this!” to “how the hell am I supposed to do this?” Which means there’s only one thing I really can do.

Step 3: Crash — quickly and without hesitation.

That’s right.

I talk a lot with my writer friends about this very feeling of inadequacy and I’ve discovered that it doesn’t matter if it’s your first book or your tenth — that feeling never truly goes away. The confidence grows but so do the stories; and so does the doubt that we are ever really doing them any justice.

Creative individuals have very specific visions. Sometimes we nail it, sometimes we don’t, and it’s in the amalgamous middle where we find ourselves. It’s a journey into ourselves and we come out transformed every time. We wade in the messy middles, in the unknowable betweens, and let it seep into our nervous system. We ask questions that feel larger than the cosmos and as granular as a piece of sand. We do it over and over again in the hopes of creating something that reflects that transformative experience so that others can not only understand our hearts, but their own hearts and the hearts of others as well. Empathy. Connection. Community. The membranous tissues that connect us all.

And the only way to ever learn something is to do it. Sometimes poorly. Perfection is a luxury no one can afford — especially writers. It is our abilities to wade in the mess, to run our fingers through it and sift something special out of the primordial muck, that makes our creative exploits so special. As we keep doing it, we keep getting better and better at picking out the good bits.

So, as I slowly begin to embark on this journey into my own mushy middle of revising and crafting draft three, I will hold that idea close. I will doggy paddle towards the deep end until my toes can no longer touch the bottom. I will kick and flail to keep my head above water until I find myself longing to dive deeper and deeper into that abyss and re-emerge transformed.

I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, but I know that I want to do it.

TLDR; I’m really scared I won’t be able to make Glass Paradise as excellent as I want it to be, but that’s not going to stop me from trying. If any of you have any tips when it comes to revisions, I would love to hear them! 💌

I’m Rooting For You,

Becca