by Ben Obler
Writing a novel is a ridiculous task. If we can stop and recognize that fact every once in a while, we can ease our burden. Yes, nose to the grindstone for much of the time, scouring for the profound, the heartening, the heart-rending, the enlightening. But this effort is taxing on the constitution. We have to stop from time to time, set the keyboard on end, and take a deep breath. In these moments (in the colossal time frame of novel writing, moments may be weeks), we step back and try to assume the attitude that Buddhist writer Pema Chodron calls “no big deal.” Easier said than done.
I stepped back recently after several months of making revisions to a novel manuscript. After hitting 135,000 words, I’d stopped writing. The work was getting too long. The more you write, the more there is to muscle through with the editorial weed whacker. I wanted some feedback on how things were working, in hopes that I could lop off a few story limbs and not worry about pruning them, fostering their growth. The writer is the last one who can judge what’s the sturdiest and most fruitful; I wanted an outside opinion on where to direct my attention when I continued. So while I sought out a reader, I set about rereading what I had. I’d refresh my memory, try to simulate a new reader’s perspective, and also clean up the manuscript. I’d already done this once, when I had 70,000 words, and probably a few times when I had less than that. I call it a “pass,” as one makes with a comb.
The pass turned into a full-fledged revision. Crossing out bum phrases, rearranging clauses, slashing paragraphs, tweaking dialogue, noting pleasing scenes, recasting illogical events, reshaping characters. Finally finished, all the changes entered in the 40-chapter Word document, I held the stack of paper. It was an untidy bundle, with many pages warped from beverage spills, crumpled from being toted here and there. What now? I could hardly remember where I was with the thing. It was like I’d emerged from a season-long hibernation (a sense aided by one of the most grueling Minnesota winters on record). The absurdity of it all hit me. I was overwhelmed. I knew in time I’d get the helpful—nay, essential—insight of a willing beta-reader, but for now everything was a muddle. To keep from going mad, the only sane choice was to embrace the chaos, to cultivate my sense of “no big deal,” and have a good laugh.
I felt like a lot of time had elapsed during revision, with me in a red-pen trance. Indeed, the dates on my documents confirmed that a few months had passed. I wanted to recapture time, or at least comprehend my seeming suspension. That’s when I got the idea for a time-lapse video. Well, something of the sort. I made a stop-motion video—over 200 single-spaced pages passing before the camera in under four minutes. All my scribbles, scratching, and scrutiny blipping by with comic inconsequence. It was a fun project, providing much needed relief from the monotony of revision. With the catchy tune I used as a soundtrack still in my head, I once again fire up the grindstone. No big deal.
Ben Obler lives and writes in Saint Paul and will present at the Loft’s Novel-Writing Conference.
