By Nancy Farrier
I hate cleaning. I mean the deep cleaning that you always put off, or at least I do. For instance, going through the black hole in my bedroom, I usually refer to as my closet. Yes, I know there are those who do this on a regular basis. I’m not one of them.
After all, that comfortable pair of sandals looked very nice. There might even be a way to fix that broken strap some day, even though super glue doesn’t work. Then there are the old clothes. I could shed some pounds and fit back into the ones I haven’t worn in years. I’m not real concerned about fashion, so it won’t matter that they aren’t in, plus by the time I fit into them they might be the height of fashion again. That would be a reason to hang onto them.
Then, there are all the bits of yarn, the only slightly damaged gift bags, the odd pieces of wrapping paper that might be the perfect size for the next gift, and the list goes on. How am I supposed to part with all those valuables?
When I do take a deep breath, gather my resolve, and begin to sort and pitch, I’m amazed at the change. I have room in that closet again. I’m not living in fear for my life every time I open the door.
I often find editing my writing to be the same difficult chore. I recall the first time I had to change scenes that were perfect. (In my eyes only.) It was hard. It was painful. Yet, when I listened to the editor, and followed the suggestions I’d been given, the finished work was so much stronger and more believable. Who knew all those ly adverbs, and flowery adjectives, weren’t necessary?
Killing my darlings still isn’t easy. However, I know the hard work and persistence will pay off. My readers will be happier, and so will my editor. As for the closet—I love to live in fear.
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