Last night I started a journey towards improving my writing. I recently joined a small band of women who will meet weekly and work on each other’s projects of the pen.
This morning, my son – who knew I left the family circle last night to retreat to my office to start my 5 pages that are due this Friday – asked how it went. I told him I was pleased with the piece I had started but that, so far, I was falling one page short of the the 5 page minimum. I am too old to play the “adjust the margins” game or to pretend I didn’t hear the “please use 1.5 spacing” and resort to double spacing. Clearly, I have more to do before deadline.
Upon hearing this news – being short a few hundred words – this was my son’s advice, and I quote: “Mom, just go back and start adding in the descriptive words. Like the ‘deep brown walls’, not just ‘walls’. That will help.”
After all these years of letting loose with this blog and scribbling in many journals the ideas for my “Great American Novel”, I was finally taking the jump towards opening myself up to the power of other women writers from my own community. This was going to be challenging and thrilling and difficult. I was ready.
I obviously could have just turned to the 15 year old and my thesaurus. And saved myself the extra work.