Week 44 - Read on Lizzie...

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a novel in need of a publisher must be in want of a third draft.

So there it is. Sitting on my desk, feeling all pleased with itself.

487 sheets of yellow A4. A prologue, 33 chapters and an epilogue. 97,000 words. 43 weeks’ work.

And it’s still not finished.

On Tuesday evening I pressed the “print” button and sat back for much of the following hour as page after page were spewed from my printer.

For the following ten days, that’s where it will stay. A brooding presence; a splinter in the finger of life.

The plan is that I put the novel aside for ten days so that when I return to it, it will be with fresh eyes. That’s the plan. The reality is that we’ve moved beyond that point. That was all well and good for the first draft; that white livered prissy relation. The first draft was quite happy to sit out the ten day cooling off period, like the fourth sister in Pride and Prejudice, fully aware she’s never going to be asked to dance and so sits there quietly watching but not taking part.

But time has moved on.

The second draft is an altogether different proposition. The second draft is more like Elizabeth Bennet, Austen’s striking prototype feminist who knows her own mind and will not be bowed by her parents’ wishes.

While I know I will leave the second draft alone for ten days, I also know it won’t be easy. It’s sitting there now; aware of its stature while knowing that it’s not quite the finished article. It still needs me to complete it - just as Lizzie needed Darcy to help make her all she could be - but it’s not going to sit there quietly.

It’s on my mind throughout the day: could the first chapter do with just one more re-write; is the prologue “there” yet; does character B arrive early enough; can I afford the ink it takes to print another draft? These are the questions that dance around my head like characters from a Regency ball.

None of this is helped by the fact that the weather has suddenly gone all hot and humid. I’m never at my best in hot weather; it seems to melt my ability to concentrate. Perhaps, before my wife returns home from work, I might go for a quick dip in the lake.

Of course, I’ll be needing my wife’s help soon. She’ll be the first person to read the novel and I need her to be able to remain fully focused. So it’s probably better not to mention those two words that have been known to buckle her knees and start her incoherently babbling.

...and what are those two words? Second draft? New novel? My husband? No alcohol?!

Sadly not (although the last one comes close).

They are, of course, Colin Firth.