One of the most difficult parts of revision is putting my mind back into the place it was when I wrote the book.
When I write a story, I process events and grow and learn. It's cathartic. And when I come out the other side, I'm changed.
To go back is to return to who I was before, someone I've progressed beyond.
At times it's nostalgic.
Other times I'm ripping open wounds that had healed, probing deeper, excising damaged tissue, and uncovering, expressing ideas and thoughts previously unknown or long suppressed.
This is where I am tonight. I'll put on my headphones, fall into the music, and step into my protagonist's mind. I'll attempt to convey the actions, the plots, the dialogue, true, but I'll push myself further, deeper, to move beyond into the very essence, the heart, the soul of the story. In tandem, to dance in empathy with a reader unseen, to write not only what I must express, but what the reader must have in order to connect and feel and see and hear and live not only what I strive to portray but also what he needs to explore his own humanity. A delicate balance, revision is.
