The Five Stages

Chances are, you're familiar with psychiatrist Elizabeth Kubler-Ross's Five Stages of Grief, a pattern of phases most people go through when faced with their impending death, or the death of a loved one.   This universal process can be applied to less serious personal traumas, such as injury, break-up, bankruptcy, etc.

I'm thinking now, after emerging from a 3-week nightmare workathon, that it may be also true for rewrites -- specifically when one is handing in a so-called final draft on deadline.  Herewith:

THE 5 STAGES OF FINAL DRAFT WRITING

1. Denial

It's really in very good shape.  Sure, I've got a ton of notes, but it's nothing I can't handle...

2. Anger

Who is the cretinous asshole who wrote this crap?

3. Bargaining

If I can just have [enough methamphetamine, a roomful of writers a helluva lot smarter than I am, a time machine, etc.], I promise I'll have this in good enough rough shape for the draft after the final draft!

4. Depression

I am SO fucked.

5. Acceptance

As awful as this one is, the next one can only be better.  And I still (sort of) have my health. 

How cavalier was I, when my editor suggested a date three weeks away for handing in the manuscript of my novel!  Hadn't we just had a dream date of a lunch meeting, going over her five pages of notes and arriving at (theoretical) solutions for all the problems cited?  It was all so clear, everything -- only a few bits of heavy lifting amidst lots of little stuff -- that needed to be done.

What I forgot, in Denial, and then confronted (in Anger) was the principle of It Can Always Be Better, and the presence of The Me That Came Before.

Here's how it goes.  Beyond the Domino Syndrome  (the idea that when you change one plot beat, the next is affected, and so on) lies a more insidious morass of what we might call a Fortunately/Unfortunately rewrite principle: Fortunately, you can drain a boggy paragraph here, prune an unruly sentence there -- any draft can be improved.  Unfortunately, no sooner has one section of a piece been polished to a fresh sheen, than an adjacent swath of prose looks pathetically shoddy.

It Can Always Be Better is the awful truth that often leads to a torturous game of literary Whack-a-mole.  You're in the home stretch on a scene (you think), merely correcting light line edits, and you're suddenly brought up short by the sight of what an illustrious critic acquaintance calls "a lump."  Some heretofore unnoticed patch of coal is nestled amidst your diamonds, a first draft-like clumsiness that's not up to last-draft snuff.  So back down to the mines you go.

And how did this happen?  Why didn't you see it before?  This is where The Me That Came Before comes in.  Billy 2003 thought the thing up.  Billy 2004 reshaped it.  Billy 2005 rethought it yet again... By the time I got to my present draft there had been a history, a multitude of me's involved, each of them improving on the work of the one before. 

The positive way to look at this, as my stalwart, sweet Tater suggested, is "my standards are getting higher."  The negative way is to fear I'll never get high enough.   

But meanwhile, who is the nefarious Billy who wrote yesterday's draft and pronounced it viable? That freakin' guy -- I'm always reading over what he wrote last night, thinking: what was he thinking?!   Thus the Me That Came Before makes it better, until the Me That Comes After needs to make it better than the Me Before again... ad infinitum.

Next, in my Bargaining phase, the present-day Billy -- while addressing the multitudes of Billys with a desperate plaint: can't we all just get along? -- promised to build a temple in the lord's honor, among other things, if he could just for a second get the story straight.

During Depression, my general hopelessness over the story's ever being a story (let alone being great) alternated with visions of lifelong friends crossing the street to avoid seeing me after the book is published.

Finally came the understanding that the only way to truly bring the book up to the present moment (i.e. where I am now as a writer, via learning from all the mistakes the past me's have made) would be to throw this draft out and start writing the book again from the beginning. 

This sounds to me like I'm approaching Acceptance -- the point where you can at least live with the idea that you'll only get the damn thing as good as it can get for where you are now.

Because it's due tomorrow morning, my brain is mush, and if it really sucks... my editor will tell me how to fix it and get us an extension.  Won't she? 

So why does it feel like I've somehow wheeled my way back to Denial again...

Comments

[E.C. Henry]

Timely post, Billy, as the May 1st Nicholl's deadline looms ever closer...

You're so right about angst, desperation, and general grouchyness writers are prone to express when faced with meeting a deadline. I know I've felt that way in the past.

Lately I've been going by a new rule when rewriting: rewrite untill the material becomes toxic, then call it good for now and get away from it.

Take the pressure off yourself to "be perfect." Writing is a progressive art. During a rewrite you go over and over and over the same material. After awhile, guess what, you're no improving anything. Infact, you may even feel the urge to toss your manuscript across the room. When that happens it's time to call it good for now, and GET AWAY FROM IT. Send it off to a fresh set of eyes and starting working on a different project, or re-stimulate yourself back into the love of writing by reading some good fiction from another writer.

- E.C. Henry from Bonney Lake, WA

[Christina]

I am in the "I'm so fucked" stage with my current project, a rom com I stalled out on between the 2nd and 3rd draft, after getting back some particularly caustic notes from a 23-year-old reader of a producer that was (and now isn't) interested in it. I have to start writing again soon, or marry rich.

[MaryAn]

This post is perfect for me and E.C. is right about your timing and the Nicholl deadline.

Wait. Who said that?

I'm actually in Christina's stage right now. But give me five minutes.

[Patty]

So the deadline has come and gone? Can't wait to hear what transpired.

For next time, maybe a different analogy--birth? Take advantage of all those supportive pain minimalizing therapies--hydrotherapy, massage, relaxation, breathing exercises, visualization, mindfulness? This one is way out, curious (just learned the word, myself) but maybe just the ticket: doula?

[Barbara]

Having just gone through revision hell myself, I feel your pain. I also like Patty's analogy above of birth - Yes, it's like dumping your kid into that FedEx chute when you mail your editor back the manuscript.

[mernitman]

EC: Yes, it's always a good idea to Get Out of the Room. I tend to have some of my best rewrite ideas in the shower.

Christina: Hmmm... Write again soon, or marry rich? A very Hollywood dilemma.

MaryAn: All you need is 5 minutes?! You're a better man than I.

Patty: Birth...! Why didn't I think of that? Seriously, though, your apt metaphors strike me as more appropriate for a first draft. When you're on your 8th-9th (really more like 15th-16th if you count interim passes through the ms.) even the world's best doula may not be able to assist. (There's some metaphor here about delivering a baby that's already full-grown and ugly, but I'm not gonna go there)...

Barbara: ...and don't you feel like you wish you could catch up with it on the receiving end and walk it up to the office, tie its shoelaces, etc?

[Chris]

Two(ish) days to Nicholl and I'm not even sure what stage I'm on anymore.

Is there a stage for just throwing any old shit in there and hoping to God that it doesn't sound like it came from a schizophrenic?

[Brooke]

Who knew writing was so much work? It looks like fun. All that sitting around in front of the computer drinking coffee.

Carrie Bradshaw sure made it look easy.

[mernitman]

Chris: Sounds like Acceptance to me...

Brooke: Damn that Carrie. Ever notice how she NEVER failed to come up with a pithy headline question in time for deadline? Only in the TVs...

[karen]

That's so funny and soooo true. I keep noticing those lumps of coal...not sure I've spotted any diamonds yet :)

[mernitman]

Karen, sad but true: We are all lumpy.