Notes on Sisyphus: The Latest in My Book Revision
Up the hill again.
Published November 6, 2024
Image credit / art print by Jeffrey Hummel.
Hello, my dearest readers.
If you're new here, or from my book updates newsletter (which you should stay on for news , by the way), you might not be familiar with Words Like Silver: the book blog I started in 2011 that was my first foray into the wild wild world of book publishing.
Over the past year, my developer and I built out a custom look and feel that more accurately reflects and conveys my POV in a really appealing way (for me, at least.)
The studio art minor in me hungered for more visual opportunity. The longhand writer wanted that marked-up, annotated feel that makes me feel connected with what I'm talking about. And the journalist in me wanted an endeavor that might eventually sustain itself more thoroughly, and have the room to serve as "my island of misfit pitches," so to speak.
Stick around or don't, but I'm glad that you're here. Since I have an update on my latest book revision, I wanted to share it here for anyone who might be curious.
How My Revision & Book Process Has Been Going
In August (?) of 2024, I submitted my most recent book revision to my agents at William Morris Endeavor. Their edits were dead-on, which is partly why I signed with them: a mix of craft-based clarity and sales know-how that made me confident that revision was the right choice.
Still, the first revision was hugely structural. I'd already known going into it that I wanted to yank a giant plot thread—on which all of the character's motivation hinges—and had to appropriately balance out her choices and reactions afterwards using a different methodology. For that reason, scene order fucked me over, my butcher paper went back up onto the wall (I largely plot using a serial-killer-conspiracy-style layout), and I went into a deep, deep pit of despair around June when I tackled the "dark night of the soul" plot point and made the tone far too dark.
Somehow, I eventually straightened it out and finished my rewrite after some false starts. Then, I got comments back. Mostly, everything was great and successful (woo!) but could I fix a few plot troubles and logistical threads? Including the backstory of a secondary character, the reaction of the cast near the climax to a big reveal, and some realistic but possibly confusing flip-flopping on behalf of the main character.
Sure, no big deal. I'd give myself a week or two. I hoped to finish by Labor Day. But September dragged and got busy, and suddenly I was so stuck I couldn't dare to get out.
The trouble with that revision, despite requiring a completely minimal amount of work versus the first (and the many I've completed over the past few years) was that I was simply so burnt out. I temporarily couldn't summon fresh eyes. Normally, waiting and patience eventually kicks them back into function, but weeks passed and nothing. Plus, I only get paid based on what writing I produce, so my work output slowed; I was earning less, and couldn't justify earning even less like I had over the summer to "pay myself with time" to write.
This past week, I forced myself to sit down and get it done even though it didn't feel as good as previous edits. I had to trust my beta readers (who serve as second sets of eyes) and the hours of expertise that had gone into the language, plotting, and construction up until that point. The 10,000 hour rule is in place, right? That's lifelong ambition for you. Long game, baby.
Still, I wasn't used to not being able to trust my gut, especially on a creative pursuit.
Hear Me Out—My Studio Art Minor Is My Savior
People regularly ask me what was most helpful to study for my writing within school, and the answer always seems to surprise people: studio art. For several reasons, actually.
- I have a very difficult time calling any art project finished. My professors were constantly on me for this. We'd start a project and make a layer. After critique, we'd come up with new ways to add to the artwork, whether through use of a new material (maybe a layer of ink or charcoal) or through more time—details or erasure. Time is as much a medium as any other material, and when that clicked, I had a new understanding of when to call something its final form. I could always keep tweaking. (I'm a perfectionist, so struggle with this, especially in writing.)
- When you're drawing, you aim for the longest and most accurate line to start a gestural piece. I use this philosophy across my work, whether tastemaking/curating or writing. I want to immediately convey the most limited, accurate essence of a particular feel, intention, or image. It's helpful for me to think of fiction as the beginning of a sketch in that you race to get the "truest" iteration of your art down first and then flesh it out. Again, time as a medium. The line will have a different role if it's a five-minute drawing versus a fifty-minute drawing, and that means it has little to do with ending quality because you're qualifying it within the context of that resource. I use this idea in a way to excavate the core of my books, whether adding to an extra-long playlist and whittling it down or determining the precise sensory lexicon that's going to make a storyworld feel distinctive to a reader.
- Critique is crucial. Obviously, I want everyone to be obsessed with my writing, book, and characters at first glance. I'm awful about it too. When someone says they loved my work, I say, "No, you should be hungry for it. You should be knocking on my door to dissect it." In such a competitive environment, I need full-scale obsession. With that said, I'm very sensitive about what I want others' reaction to be but have a thick skin for critique because it improves my craft. Often, I find that people on the Internet are extraordinarily kind to each other about their writing within certain drafting circles which is wonderful but I might be a bit of a sergeant about what I think improves us most.
- And as any creative, knowing your rhythms and when to build in silence. Both as a freelance journalist and an author, one of the most significant shifts for me in terms of productivity was when I learned and recategorized rest / pauses / silence as being just as important to my work (which is a similar idea to How to Disappear: Notes on Invisibility in a Time of Transparency, which I book club'd on the blog earlier this week). The gaps are just as important. For that reason, I've learned to prioritize my sleep and build in days for (at least) the pursuit of fresh eyes. Walking helps kick it in. Unfortunately, a creative schedule might not look traditional. Similarly, I know when I'm starting my day and I'll lose a wave of inspiration if I don't ride it just now, so I'm better at taking the risks of dropping the ball on something else in order to finish the book (or vice versa: calling it on the book when I really have to make a journalism deadline.) I write best in the mornings, but sometimes have to crank out an evening shift. I'm still bad about constantly feeling guilty and behind, but I have been better about viewing pauses as mandatory within my writing process. For that reason, I also know I'm on the slower side.
Anyway, being a creative is a lot of trial and error. I'm privileged enough to be making living out of it and paying my rent through it, but it's definitely difficult both mentally and financially to throw so much of myself into a risk and pray it pays off.
The gut call was difficult because I knew I'd worry if I sent it off and didn't have that gut feeling—the muscle just being wiped by now—but also suspected there was a decent chance that it would never come back. So I had to trust the externals: other people, my agents, and the hours I'd spent so far. (Similarly, this particular revision made me so, so grateful to have landed with my fit: I trusted them enough to know that they would flag anything that wasn't right, or that if they called it "ready" then I would be.)
Getting the email this afternoon that I still have more to do hurt, honestly. I popped a mini bottle of prosecco last week (my favorite authorship hack. My pantry shelf is all memories like finished revision / got agent / revision that killed me / signed with new agent.
I celebrated with a friend at dinner last week in celebration of it being "over." (PS. We got the burrata and the sprouts at Maya's Tapas and Wine in Hale'iwa—that happy hour deal is too good.)
Still, the fixes aren't much and I know they're right.
Somehow, I'm Forever Dealing with Changes
The tricky part about revising with an agent (or one of them at least) is that each person who touches your book is going to have a slightly different taste in what they want to see, which is why it's important to align in your vision. Each person will fingerprint your book in a different way, so inevitably, signing with a different agency was going to lead to changes. An eventual editor acquisition would do the same.
Some bubbled up over the course of the year or so I'd spent mulling over the story beforehand. Some were Hail Marys I threw in throughout the course of the revision: magical epiphanies that now I couldn't imagine the book without. And some, like now, are good, solid questions I need to address and clarify for the reader to make Mountain Sounds as tight and compelling as possible. There's always more you could do, which means there's always something you could possibly change.
“I like to joke that because I wrote a 95,000 word book, that means I have at least 95,000 decisions I have to make each time I sit down with it.”
I took some risks, which means there's still some I have to clean up. Now, I'm very aware of my lack of fresh eyes, the looming pressure of gift guide season, and the pressed timeline. The most difficult part of this edit is knowing that I likely won't get the book out to publishing houses—and therefore out of my head—until after the holidays. Publishing tends to shut down after Thanksgiving, and I'm doubtful that myself, my agents, and the pitch materials can be turned around in time.
I wanted that clean slate and brain space because I've now gone seven years with Mountain Sounds as my living, breathing every thought. The past two months or so have been the first time since maybe 2020 that I haven't felt absolutely controlled by this book and my desire to make it real. My absolute need for it to be my debut novel, and to achieve my dream of being a successful author. (Small goals: major deal. Foreign rights territories. Movie deal. Debuting at no. 1 on The New York Times bestseller list only to sweep the Printz and the National Book Award too. Very minor ambitions! Kidding, kidding. Sort of.)
I also often say that for the past years, I've been wholly dating my book. All the hours and attentions that might be lavished on a partner are instead lavished on my work. Sometimes, people think I'm kidding, but it's really an accurate comparison. Late nights and desperate affections. I only recently got to the point of learning to balance myself and my devotion enough to let other people in. I am fundamentally stubborn and committed, and that quality both serves me and limits me in various ways. Grit, baby.
Lots of external responsibilities to balance this time, but I've promised my agents a quick turnaround, even knowing that it likely won't get out on the timeline I thought it would.
“The self-referential Hofstadter's Law posits that the time required to complete a task will always expand to fill the available time i.e. it always takes longer than you expect, even accounting for Hofstadter's Law. ”
Since I know I'll get stuck in my perfectionism if I let it simmer—since it's no longer a pursuit of fresh eyes, but the exhaustion of them—I've resolved to finish it on a super tight deadline before I can let it sit (and let myself doubt) too long, even if it doesn't go out until the New Year.
So Here's How I Structure My Writing
It never feels done, because I am actually Sisyphus, although I do try to celebrate the milestones more now. But I have paid work and the blog and a social life and life admin to get done before the end of the year (some of which is extremely urgent or emotionally pressing) in balance too.
I do really like the times in which I get really locked and loaded into my deep work grind, because I do very well with concentrated periods of intensity and devotion, even though I majorly crash afterwards. I'm forever trying to avoid the crash; it forever happens anyway. Candle lit. "Deep work" headphones on. Pavlov that bish.
Nowadays, I'm usually up at 5 a.m. getting deadlines in. Right now, I'm going to try to clear as much off my desk as possible in a sprint of sorts over the next day or two, then try to split up my workdays by task. I tend to dial in better if I have a full day to do book work and a different day to do journalism, for example. I loved my part-time contract in 2023 when I worked Tuesday to Thursday for a cluster of magazines then had Monday and Friday to revise. It scratched a perfect itch for me in balancing flexibility and structure/routine.
So I'll get up and dive right in. Usually, I'll write book-wise until I get fried then switch to journalism, or vice-versa—whichever one feels like a forbidden pursuit a.k.a the opposite of what I should be doing. Then I'll leave the house for some outdoor or social time—a workout or to see friends or run errands. Come back, shower, dinner (pathetically scrounged), and an evening shift of whatever I didn't get done, hoping the exercise or the shower shook some inspiration into me. Next day: rinse and repeat until over. This'll likely take weekends too, but I'm pretty much used to never having a consistent weekend anymore. Hopefully, some life will slip through the cracks?
Revision-wise, I'll go through and color-code the relevant passages that correspond to their notes. I'll either blackout highlight the rest of the book so I don't look at it or just force myself not to read "for the experience" and get bogged down in other changes. Then I'll just go piece by piece to string this together, then go back through to reread, then clean up any inconsistencies, then send off to readers, etc,. I'm hoping these go smoothly. Frankly, I deserve it and I'm ready to send it off as soon as possible.
If This Is the First You're Hearing About My Book
Like I said, Mountain Sounds is an all-consuming, life-and-soul pursuit that's largely absorbed and dominated my early 20s. Hopefully it pays off! Either way, I've been sharing about my book—a Southern Gothic love letter to western North Carolina—to attract the right readers, and detailing my process as a longtime book blogger who's seen a whole lot of book publishing (specifically in YA) over the 13 years I've been reviewing. (Which also, if you're looking to read Mountain Sounds for its depiction of the Appalachian region, you should absolutely donate to Hurricane Helene relief or mutual aid funds while you're at it.)
I'm pretty transparent about the hows and whys of constructing my revision processes, my query letter, and each bump and roadblock that's come up along the way between announcing my first agent to preparing for submission to publishing houses. Whether you're looking to do it yourself or just fascinated by a peek into such an opaque industry, I hope it can be illuminating for you.
You can sign up for my writing updates newsletter here for the bulk of the specifics, and I'll likely publish the most recent iteration of my first chapter on here soon. You can also follow along on Instagram (linked both in-line and below) for the day-to-day updates and reflections. More visible interest is only ever helpful to what I'm trying to do, so every set of eyes matters. (See also: my recent reflections on visibility, and a favorite book that discusses its function.)
