I have successfully resisted the urge to edit the first 60 pages of my story. The other day, I settled in a sunny, cozy corner of my house with tea and a 4×6 notebook and scribbled away.
This writing fling features ginger peach tea and an open faced egg sandwich, which was very yummy. I wish I had white bread so it could be a proper tea sandwich. But oh well.
Since the pages in my notebook are so small, each page is fairly insubstantial. But after filling both sides of eight pages, I have 1,300 words and six typed pages (the dialogue fluff the pages up and makes it seem longer than it really is).
Those six pages are very very skeletal. Rather than adding details, I write notes-to-self:
- “Describe environment / moment.”
- “Show guilt”
- “Is Fallon here?”
- “What is she wearing? Whatever it is, it gets soaked.”
And so on.