When I am at the end of words, I jump on my bike and ride until they come back to me. ~
Patricia Hickman

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A Confession About Revision—Let the Carnage Begin

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The hardest—and probably most painful—part of writing is accepting criticism. When I walk into class after returning their first edited manuscript, some students smile politely while mourning the loss of a limb; others behave as if I’ve performed a full lobotomy. I sigh the unavoidable sigh of a writing teacher, hand back the pages, and brace myself. There’s no other way out. I have to give them the news the same way I’d want it delivered to me. I still remember my first editorial review from a writing professor. I thanked him feebly, but panic nearly paralyzed me. Was he telling me my work was hopeless? Unrevivable? My only comfort was knowing he let me keep coming back. The first draft is a joyride—a glorious shut-off-the-brain sprint so the story can tumble out. But revision? That’s when the gloves go on and we start poking around inside the body. Is that a tumor? Will that limb need amputation? I nearly second-guessed myself into heart failure while learning to self-edit. Us...
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This one’s personal from a few years ago; but it stayed with me all day. Here’s what happened: Some days, I’m reminded of the old adage: there are more important things. This morning, I slipped into the local village bookstore, The Country Bookshop, hoping to introduce myself — something I often do when I’m near a Southern bookseller. Just as I was inching toward a few irresistible titles, one of the associates whispered that the president of the local college was standing behind me. Ah! A familiar face — and better yet, I was caught red-handed promoting the fiction class I’ll soon be teaching at his college. One introduction led to another, and soon a circle of new literary friends had formed, all of us clogging the aisle and filling the air with literary chatter and publishing talk — the kind that quickens a writer’s pulse by Hemingway-esque increments. It was a lovely moment. Until I got in the car and my spouse called. I had, in my dreamy, bookish bliss, completely missed ...
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Welcome to my new blog, Village Writer. I am starting this new blog endeavor at the urging of FaceBook friends . I dedicate this blog to you, my friends who know me as your author, some as your editor, and some as your writing teacher. For those who once followed my writer-ly musings at Words to Go, I am returning to blogdom again and hope you will forgive my sabbatical away. I’m launching this new blog at the urging of my Facebook friends, and I dedicate it to you—my longtime supporters, readers, and fellow writers. If you once followed my musings at Words to Go , thank you for walking with me then—and welcome back. I’ve returned from my blogging sabbatical, eager to share reflections on writing, books, and the creative life. Please linger, explore, and if something resonates, leave a note for other writing souls to find and feast upon. Peace, Patricia Hickman The Village Writer
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