[ 5 minute read ]
Ironing my words
I am going to write another story. I think it is hard work and I especially hate editing. Editing is like ironing clothes. I prefer just having fresh washed clothes; most of the time they smell good - you know, mellifluous washing detergent, or that weird outdoor smell. I regard the smell as the gloss we put on a finished piece of writing or presentation. For me, it means the work is finished.
'Done! What do you think? I hope they like it.'
But wait! I started by saying that I like clothes that are already made and I recycle them by repeatedly washing them, and I was using ironing clothes as a metaphor for editing written pieces. If I mistakenly iron a crease into a shirt, I have a lot of work to do to iron it out. I don't like that. That is not progress. To me, that is careless action resulting in a lot of resources being used to return to retrograde conditions.
It won't come as a surprise if I tell you I don't iron my clothes. Similarly, I find editing tedious. I find it so tedious that I have tutor comments that say 'Use Harvard referencing'. That is because I have written something in an essay and highlighted it to myself with my own referencing because I don't want to break my chain of thought by stopping to finding the exact quote or source. 'I will fix it in the editing.' I tell myself. But, just like ironing clothes, I iron in creases in the paragraphs. I can use commas and semi-colons to 'pin' the piece down. But often the 'finished' piece is a patchwork of crumpled areas adjacent to smooth areas. It is like looking at someone's garden and seeing rough, freshly dug, areas next to pristine, manicured lawns. I like the potential of the dug area and despise the controlled environment. I simply cannot resist planting daisies, buttercups, and clover in stripy lawns. It is the prospect of trampling on the 'Keep off the Grass' sign and inviting people to play that makes writing interesting, for me.
I have tutor comments like, 'Don't separate this paragraph from the one before. Make it one paragraph'; 'Link this paragraph to the previous one'; and 'Move the paragraph above to a place after this paragraph'.
'You are far too late with this advice. I got bored with editing this essay eight thousand hours ago.' I think to myself.
I have considered making story templates and 'hanging' them in a story cupboard in my 'Story Fashion House'.
'Okay! Here we have a lovely piece that can be fitted to you. A seasonal aspect to it with a dark mood. You will notice the threads of mystery woven throughout, that resolves into this effervescence of joy. Do you fancy trying it on? No?'
'Ah! Yes! Here! I have just the thing for you! A strong and robust piece with bright contrasts that belie the subtle tones beneath. You can see the adventurous nature that steals from the muted background creating a feeling of desuetude that jars one's senses. No? Perhaps not for you, then. In any case, it WOULD need a lot of ironing to keep it in shape. (Desuetude - discontinuance, dis-usage, disuse)
'Oh, here we are! This is it! This one! Oh Yes! Just look at that! Monochromatic, the tones are the key to unraveling the intent behind the creation. You will note that one's attention is led in one direction as the shades naturally incline to an expectation of continuance only to be left puzzled when it does not resolve to its conclusion. Here, if we look carefully, we can make out that there are repetitions of the pattern that, taken together, create a sense of uneasiness. It is only when we stand back. Step back a bit. That's it. There, do you see? Right there, before our eyes, though hidden if we are too close, the meaning and intent of the design is evident with a quite beautiful aura. What do you think? Want to try it? This is just pure creation; very little ironing needed at all. It just wouldn't stand it; far too fragile. Of course, it would need a hanger. You know, it could easily lose its shape. Oh goodness! I talk too much! Forgive me, please. Marnie, could you take over here please? Goodness!'
It could be like that. I have a collection of stories that wriggle around and never take shape. They are coloured threads needing a warp for their weft. I am so happy when I am waving an invisible net in the air and catching original ideas to set down. The best of all though, is when original ideas catch me.