Editing, Round 2

I got my second round of edits this week for the Christmas novella. Which immediately made me reach for my chain saw.

This unusual gut reaction to editing really does make sense. Let me explain. Editing an entire manuscript can be overwhelming, but if you approach it a chapter at a time, it's doable. Same thing with a tree branch. It can be bulky and heavy to start with, but when it gets cut into sizable chunks, it's easy to maneuver.

I cut some words from a chapter, and then cut some logs. I'm making my manuscript tidy at the same time I'm cleaning up my woodpile. I once dated a man from Vermont, where wood fires are common. He told me you should never put a Vermonter in front of an unstacked pile of wood, because they wouldn't come inside until it was arranged in a logical, neat order. It's the same with editing. You're not done until you can read through your entire document with your fingers off the keyboard.

Since this is a novella, there aren't that many chapters to get through, so it should take no longer than a couple days to do the work. Which is good, since I only have three more branches to chop up.

The Woodpile That Is My Backlist

I was using my chain saw to cut up some downed branches last Monday, when the third book in my historical series, Banking On Temperance, made its debut. It occurred to me that I had been in this same position last July, when my first book, The Reluctant Debutante, was released. What is it with release dates and chain saws, anyway?

I thought on this subject for several days before I found the answer. My woodpile takes time to build each spring and summer. Unlike most rational folks who buy firewood by the pre-cut cord, I collect branches from both my yard with its old trees that don't bend in the wind like they used to, and from my sister's 22-acres of trees. I use my little chain saw to cut these branches up, and build my pile slowly.  And before you get the wrong impression, I'm not a muscle-bound, gas-powered chain-saw toting woman with tats and a cigarette hanging from my mouth. My saw has only a 16-inch blade and is powered by electricity. It should be painted pink, it's such a girlie saw. Every time I take it in for sharpening, I have to listen to the comments: "Let's see if we can get this bad boy fixed up for you," or "You sure you can handle that saw?" That's when the guys in the chain-saw sharpening place aren't snickering.

But, I digress. The comparison I'm trying to make is this: my woodpile is like my backlist. It's taken me a while to build one. Last week I celebrated the release of Book #4--three historical and one contemporary. A fourth historical is set for release in the fall, and I've just finished my second contemporary, which I'll start shopping around next week. Slowly, over the past year, the woodpile that is my backlist has been building. So on a day like today, when I see sales of books one, two and four, I can get a warm and fuzzy feeling that my hard work is beginning to pay off.

Kind of like the warm and fuzzy feeling I get each cold winter night when I light a fire using the wood I've spent the previous spring and summer cutting up and stockpiling. My father had a slogan that "When you chop your own wood, it warms you twice." For me, since I'm usually stacking and hauling it from my sister's house and then unstacking it from my car and stacking it onto the woodpile, it's more like three or four times...kind of like editing a manuscript.Wait--I'm sensing another metaphor...

So what do you equate your backlist to?