I finally started the third draft of my memoir, The Warmth of a Winter Sun. I planned to work on it all winter break, but I couldn’t get motivated. I didn’t want to think about my father anymore. I’ve moved on since his suicide, and I believe writing the first drafts played a large role in that.
Then BAM: the start of the spring semester and the Drump inauguration. The holy shitshow that has been the first days of his administration. And, suddenly, I don’t want to stop working on my memoir. I’ve been putting in 7 and 8 hour editing days when I can.
Why? Plain ol’ insecurity. As an adjunct and single person, I’m constantly walking the money-fence, never knowing if I’m going to have enough cash to pay my bills each month. It’s a frightening place to be some days. The start of the Drump administration has only ratcheted my fears. I can’t help but think: If I can get this book done and published, maybe, just maybe, my job prospects will improve.
(Did I emphasize maybe enough? I realize all the seemingly insurmountable odds in that statement.)
As for the writing: It appears this round is about cutting. The second draft bloated to 295 pages, and I’m down to 277. I like the cuts I’ve made. I had a few moments of angst over some lost passages, but right now I feel like this draft is a lot more focused.
I’d like to get some beta readers after the third draft, but I don’t know if that will actually happen. People are busy. Either way, I’m thinking one more draft at the end of the semester and then I might try and send this thing out.
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