I've been knee deep into reading my second draft of the novel. 360 pages of muck, junk, and beauty. I'm surprised at what I've written. When I was writing the second draft, I thought the story was so interesting and complex (I had, like, five storylines), but now as I'm reading it, I see that only two storylines are interesting to me. That lops off a good 150 pages right there! That's the thing about writing: You don't control it; it controls you. My only job is to see what I have and determine if it's worth anything. Luckily enough of it is and I'm excited about starting draft three soon.
This whole seeing what's there business goes beyond the page. It's a theme in my life right now. I have to take a trip home soon to visit some family members I haven't seen in three years, since my grandfather's death. That's not by coincidence, it has been by choice because these family members aren't healthy for me. It's been tough coming to that conclusion, years in the making, but I accept that now. But because they are blood, I am still connected to them and when family problems arise, we still have to try to problem solve. Hence, I must go home to try to work on a family issue. I have no idea if I have the resources - financially, emotionally, or psychologically - to help a family member in need, but I must go and at least see what's there. I don't anticipate much positivity, but you never know what surprises - good and bad - await when you take the time to see what's there. At least I'll know the truth and that's always worth something.