We're now trying to sell our house. When you sell a house, you paint it. You fix the tiles, the funny doorknob that never worked right, you pack everything that's you so you can make emotional space in your house for other people to envision their life there.
Yeah, a writing comparison seems obvious, except that last one. You want your characters to be so vibrant they paint the walls florescent orange (or a very tasteful mint to compliment her doilies depending on the MC). But you want your reader to feel like the book itself doesn't have any leaks in the roof. You want them to have the emotional space to escape with your florescent painting MC (or you know, your doily crochetting quiet detective with a black belt in Aikido... I think she gets her hair done at the same salon as my grandmother used before she passed).
But that means fixing the roof, painting the walls, chipping out the bad scenes and replacing them with better ones. It also means cutting stuff you love.
Why is it that the BEST SCENE EVER is always the one that has to go? Well writing and home repair are similar in that they both make you bleed. On Friday (yeah, the 13th), I got clipped by a random tile piece and it nailed me in my elf pride: my ear. The ear is a very dramatic place to get hit because it just bleeds and it won't stop, no matter how tiny the cut. So I have a picture of my ear (I don't know what it is about people wanting to see this kind of stuff, but for those of you squeamish, I'm going to put a picture of laughing horse first. Don't scroll past the pony if blood makes you run for the hills).
|No really, turn back, there's blood in the next picture!|
|It got me! (barely). And this is why we wear eye protection!|