If you visit here regularly, you know how I feel about rewriting and revising.

I am working on rewriting the first of my shifter books.  I have actually rewritten this book already.  But once I got into the writing of the third book, there were things that came up in that story that made me realize I needed to go back to the beginning of the series and work in some of those same things.  Which means some major rewriting.

Ugh.

The thing is, I know the stories will be much better once I rearrange everything to fit in these new pieces.  It will be stronger, a much better read.  But oh, how I hate rewriting.  My favorite part is the actual writing, not the tweaking and revising.  I have an author friend who feels about her books exactly the opposite way.  Another friend completely plots out her stories before even starting to write, so her rewriting and revisions are minimal.

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( Photo credit: Rodger_Evans via Foter.com / CC BY-ND )

Since I wing it when I’m starting a new story, at least for the most part, my red pens get a serious work-out when it comes time to revise.

I never completely wing it.I always start with some character background, and usually a couple of scenes, maybe a little bit of the complication.  But I rarely have the entire story plotted out , or even half of the story.  My characters talk to me along the way, but they never tell me everything before hand.

But while I’m giving my red pens a workout, I have a little bit of story snippet to share with you.

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Of the cats, only the tiger remained.
Smiling, she went inside to visit with him, but he was napping in the far corner of his cage, so instead, she headed for her office and collected her purse. She could get home without having to call for an escort. It was bad enough Joe had dragged himself out of bed early that morning to follow her to work. She didn’t want to get him back out of bed now.
Convinced, she climbed into her car and steered toward home.
It wasn’t until she was about fifteen minutes from the house that she realized the car behind her had been there for a while. She tried to brush away the concern, but her pulse quickened anyway. Stupid. She was just being paranoid, thanks to all this time with Harley and Boris trailing her back and forth.
Except the car got closer when she turned onto the next road.
Tessa frowned in the rearview mirror. “Are you kidding me?” She pressed her foot harder on the accelerator. The car behind her sped up, too. “Dammit.” There was no talking herself out of this now. She steered the car away from home when she got to the next intersection, doubling back in the opposite direction–toward India’s.

The other car kept pace with her, even on the twisting, windy portions of the road. But when she steered onto the route that led to the Wentworths’, the other driver must have finally realized her destination–he sped up again, coming closer and closer to her back bumper.
Tessa’s heart already beat too fast, but now it pumped so hard, her ribs hurt. She accelerated a little more. Then more.
The other car kept pace, even drew nearer.
Her mouth went dry. “Stupid ass,” she muttered.

When he bumped her, her heart stopped beating for a long, painful moment. The car shuddered a little, slipping before regaining traction. She pressed harder on the gas.

Almost there–the gate at the end of the drive was just coming into view.
He hit her harder the second time, making the back end of the car swing out to the side, raising dust and gravel on the shoulder of the road.
Tessa realized she’d screamed even as she fought to make the car go where she wanted it to go. When she had it back on the road, she jammed her foot on the gas.
Clearly the man behind her hadn’t expected that, as he didn’t accelerate quite as quickly this time.

She shoved at her gate control button, again and again, until it started the slow swing open. She didn’t even decelerate, scraping the side of the car on the still-retracting gate as she shot into the driveway. When she looked in the rearview this time, she saw the other car sitting in the middle of the road, the driver pounding on his steering wheel.
When she screeched to a halt in front of the house, she was shaking. Hard.
Joe stuck his head out the front door. “Did you forget how the brakes work?” His smile disappeared when he got a good look at her face. “What happened?”

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I hope you enjoy your week.  I’ll be keeping my head down, between the day-job and the rewrites.

 

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