It wasn’t supposed to take this long. I kept telling myself one more week, one more week, but by mid-February I was only a little over halfway done with my own book. I had never read this much of my work in one sitting, it was an odd feeling, mostly because I wasn’t hating it, but also because (while this information is perfectly obvious to anyone who has ever written seriously before, it has become increasingly obvious to me) reading it in one sitting as I was, allowed me to get a feel for pacing and the overall structure in a way I never could, even when editing the book page by page, I never was able to see the book in the whole sense that I did when I was reading it like this. It was not the first time I had ever read something that I’d written, but it was the furthest I’d ever gotten without wanting to change every little thing.
This is hardly some great epiphany, any writer should know you have to read your own work, but something about this felt different. It felt like I was seeing it for the first time and I realized reading over it, that something definitely felt like it was missing. A few chapters, I decided, felt out of order, but more than that, certain areas felt rushed, and I knew there was more of the story to tell in these areas.
I hadn’t really meant to stop reading.
I was just going to write down my little notes, of the restructured chapters, what to move, what to add, etc. It was just going to be a little sort of outline. Nothing major. Except that has never been how I’ve worked. I told myself I would come back to it, once I was done. It made more sense to read everything from the beginning once the restructuring was done, so I could get a feel for the new flow. That’s the plan anyway. But it’s me, so… things could change.