Where our first novels are concerned, if you’re anything like me you are writing it in the dark. If you’re anything like me you are not accustomed to operating so blindly. You’re still learning how to reach out into the unknown and wrap your fingers around the most elusive and slippery wisdom of all. You are beginning to understand that the hardest thing about writing a novel is knowing what step to take next.

After finishing the second draft I gave myself a couple days to think about something else. Even though I went on pretending to relax the novel was still there, still looming over everything. One thing you have to understand is that it’s pervasive. It’s the car you just bought and thus see parked on every street, turning at every corner. The key point, of course, being that the car was always there. You just started noticing it. So despite finishing the second draft on a Thursday I was reading through it the following Sunday. It’s nothing you can stop.

My novel is divided into three sections. After reading the first section I was horribly disappointed. I couldn’t understand why I felt such an enormous sense of failure but I felt disillusioned and defeated. The next day—a Monday—I read the second and third sections. That turned my attitude around instantly. Even so I was left confused. Everything felt so vague. This is when I started thinking again. Thinking—the most important part of writing. Nothing else can solve your problems. It’s the only way to see things in that dark.

I started reading again. In my initial read I was so disappointed with the first chapter that I thought I had to rewrite it entirely, but I thought I’d give it another shot. I’m glad I did. I read aloud this time. Reading aloud makes you slow down. Like nothing else it gives you a feel for your prose, for each individual sentence. You can pinpoint weak spots with frightening precision. I read the first chapter twice and at the moment I believe that I’ve fixed the problems I sensed on that initial read, all without having to start over again. I moved on to the second chapter and read that twice—aloud both times. I’m moving through the entire novel again. Each chapter is read aloud two times. At the same time I’m paying very close attention to what happens in each scene. If I finish a scene and feel any sense of disappointment or confusion I know something is wrong. There’s something to be said for following your instincts. When that happens I sit back and consider the events, the key points. If something is missing I try to identify that something. If something feels extraneous it goes. In the end the problems are fixed.

Possibly the greatest relief comes from my decision that I won’t have to do another complete rewrite. I enjoyed the second draft but it was resource consumptive. This doesn’t mean the third draft won’t be difficult. It’s proving difficult enough already. I feel like I’ve switched over to another way of looking at things. Even though I still feel creative that creativity feels different. It feels more analytical. Instead of rewriting entire chapters I’m focusing in on smaller pieces, from specific scenes all the way down to individual sentences. I’m listening to my heart. I can tell that a scene needs work when it doesn’t make me feel all tingly, all electric. If I’m not proud of it, it gets cut to pieces and stitched back together. I keep telling myself, So this is what third drafts are like. You must remember, I’ve never been one for revision. This is an entirely new process for me. It’s different, but I like it. With every correction I make I feel like I’m that much closer to the novel that lurked poignant and perfect in my head almost two years ago. It will never be what I intended it to be—that’s something you just have to accept. But I’ll try my hardest to get it there.