I got an idea for a picture book back in January, walked around with it in my head for a while until I heard the voice, and then I began writing in early March. The writing has been a lot of fun, and I actually found myself laughing out loud at the parts I intended to be funny.
My relationship to the project is so intimate that I know the story verbatim, often reciting it throughout the day, while cooking or showering or driving down the street.
Now several months later and countless rewrites, I can hardly stand to even look at the words on the page. I'm wondering if I can now see the book for what it truly is--a great big funky mess--or have I simply grown bored and tired of looking at the same words, the same characters, the same supposedly funny lines.
I had intended to put it in the mail several weeks ago, yet each time I sit down to fine-tune it once more, a little voice in my head (well, maybe not so little) keeps saying, "Kev, you can't send this manuscript out. This stinks!"
And so I keep rewriting and keep rewriting, yet the more I rewrite, the stinkier it gets.
My relationship to the project is so intimate that I know the story verbatim, often reciting it throughout the day, while cooking or showering or driving down the street.
Now several months later and countless rewrites, I can hardly stand to even look at the words on the page. I'm wondering if I can now see the book for what it truly is--a great big funky mess--or have I simply grown bored and tired of looking at the same words, the same characters, the same supposedly funny lines.
I had intended to put it in the mail several weeks ago, yet each time I sit down to fine-tune it once more, a little voice in my head (well, maybe not so little) keeps saying, "Kev, you can't send this manuscript out. This stinks!"
And so I keep rewriting and keep rewriting, yet the more I rewrite, the stinkier it gets.