Writing a Second Draft

I am finding writing the second draft of Plain Jane to be quite a different experience from the first draft. My goal used to be one thousand words whenever I sat down to write. I wanted to write it as fast as possible, which wasn’t very fast, to get it all out without thinking about it too hard. It was a process of discovery, huge backhoes excavating the story from where it lay deep underground.

I had similar expectations for my second draft. One thousand words at a pop. But then I sat down to write for the second or third time and watched myself slow way down. Each word is considered because there’s only one or two more passes coming. This word has to build the story, the reader’s understanding of Jane, her supporting cast, their issues and hang ups. It has to connect with the next word in such a way that no detail gets lost in the space in between. Each word is suddenly imbued with tremendous worth.

This morning I got Jane from her car into the house of her first client. Actually, she was already on the doorstep when I showed up today. I got her from waiting for him to make his slow way to the door to inside. And on the way I learned quite a bit about roses.

Rosa ‘Eden’, from the family Rosaceae: climbing roses with intricately woven petals of the fairest pink. They climb 8-16 feet which, I figured, would let them eventually reach the top of two-story pillars, are hardy in zones 5-9, which is perfect because apparently Jane and all her people live in Zone 5A, and bloom in July – September which would leave a couple hardy blooms still clinging to the vine in early October.

Three hundred thirty-nine words. That’s all I wrote today. And I am tremendously okay with this because they all felt like the right words. And since I was going slower, I discovered Mr. Charles Harris has climbing roses on his pillars, planted there years ago by him and his wife who used to say the roses transformed their front door into the second gate of Eden. She’s in a nursing home now after a stroke. She had to leave Eden. It’s quite sad, really.

I’m finding that writing a second draft is still an act of discovery only the tools are different. All the backhoe work has been done. If I try to keep using it I’ll just damage things. Now it’s time for the shovel and perhaps even those little brushes and chisels. I’m still moving forward, but at a walk now, not a run. I don’t mind the speed. If I go rushing by I might miss something, like roses climbing the house, and for this story I would hate to miss anything.