I am working my way through my rough draft, taking all those pieces of… stuff… out of the old file and putting them in chronological order in the new file. I’m also cutting out a lot of the **stuff that doesn’t happen in the revised timeline** stuff and a few tons of **wow, this is smutty** type smut. I wouldn’t call it romance, exactly. Or erotica. More like the Kinsey Report on The Indigenous Cultures of the Penitent Planets.
We will also be removing a significant section of work dealing with furniture, and specifically, chairs.
Well, my inner editor will. My muse is both endlessly fascinated by chairs and incredibly indignant that his masterwork is being butchered. I’m not taking sides.
And I’m not entirely sure my Muse has figured out that “chairs” probably means no tables, either.
There’s no way around it. I honestly have no idea how I wound up with that many pages describing chairs. Someone else must have broken into my house, hacked into my computer, affected my writing style, and started yammering away.
I mean… chairs. Plus or minus an upholstery job or two, I have no strong feelings about chairs. They’re just there.
Except… in my manuscript, they’re so much more than there. They’re described. In detail. From the first ladder-back to the the last spring.
Well, that’s why I’m doing this. Because if I left all the chairs in situ in the manuscript, I might not notice. I might not realize how much weight the chairs have. I might wind up being… that writer with the chair fixation.
I’d wind up with legions of fans, all of whom simply adore chairs. People who would carry their chairs on their backs to get them signed, and who consider merely sitting in a chair to be utterly pedestrian.
And I would wind up staring at them in gaping idiocy as they talk about chair-back settees and barrel chairs.
It’s that one over there.
You mean the red one?
Yes. The red one.
And my entire fandom heaves a collective sigh.