A Process

Let's get down and dirty to begin with: editing sucks. I spent over a week revising that bloody piece and it was an arduous process to say the least. You demanding sots all wanted this and that and I barely knew how to provide--well I knew how to provide I was just lazy and already over word count and that was frustrating. That isn't to say that I waited until the last minute, because, in an out of form move by me, I actually added most everything about a week before posting today--I just had 1500 hundred words. No fun indeed. Adding a bit of this and a bit of that really started piling up in a way I wasn't familiar with. But I had fun. Journalism kicked in with the editing process--did I really need to say that, am I being clever for the sake of being clever. A friend of mine tossed the screen-writing phrase "you have to kill your little darlings" over to me while he observed my neurosis. It instantly put all those little sentences into perspective: was I telling a story or trying to show that I was a talented writer? It was humbling to say the least. There was a conflict between the writer in me striving to prove something to himself, and the storyteller in me trying to actually put together a cohesive tale in the restrictions I was given. That isn't to say the conflict was resolved--every word was a battle, every sentence was a struggle, and every paragraph a war. It is incredibly tempting to cut a paragaph that you are quasi-foggish about that is 73 words long when you are 76 words above the limit.

While I did cut a lot to achieve a concise narrative--count em 1005 words Marin--I didn't want to just burn and turn, I had to know WHY I had written the things I did, so I went over the whole bloody thing over and over again. It was the most extensive edit I have ever done, practically changing every sentence--and it is terrifying not knowing if I am being true to myself as a writer or I am being effective in my story telling. What if the edits went to shit and there is no personality? What if the edits went to shit and the story doesn't make sense? Oi vey. By the way, this whole rant was dedicated to the Perfect Meal piece. Just saying.

Overall, food writing was a new experience, a happy medium between concrete journalism and creative writing. The restaurant review was interesting, if expensive. I felt giddy writing down all the details, feeling all fancy with my notebook eating fancier foods. It felt like I was doing what I wanted to be doing: straight up writing about experience. Maybe I should try a little more Gonzo. I feel like I need a little more oomph, like all my self-perceived strength is in my absurd rants and quirky adjective use. I am not sure if I am proud of that, or what I can do to change that, if people like it, or what. It is a terrifying, self-reflective and vulnerable position one puts themselves in and I am not sure if I am comfortable fulfilling that role--even if I want to be within that role. I constantly feel like I am not getting my thoughts across, that I am plain-old not funny, and that I am rather boring. And I am not looking for handouts or pity here either--it is just something that kept popping up while writing my posts.

I want to create a character that I can step in and out of so I can perhaps take it less personally, and so mayhaps it will be easier to follow and understand rather than looking at Zac and trying to figure him out. Mayhaps that is what I was trying to do the entire time. Its a process turning yourself into text, and it is fretful and full of self hate.