I'm the Maggot in the Metaphor

Last week, for the first in this series, I wrote about how writing a novel is alot like a long hard road march (see here). Then I followed that up by discussing how it's not glamorous or fun (see here). And although both of these things are true, today I'm going to write about how all of that leads to the finished product.

I bought a composter a year or so ago to replace my homemade composter that I built years ago. The model shown in the pciture above is the very type that I have. I bought it (and borrowed the above picture) from The Gardener's Supply Company. (Best place on the web to go get gardening gear). Nevertheless, although I use the hell outta that sucker I never use a shiny new pail, nor wear my gardening clogs, nor smile quite so heartily as the fellow in the image above.

Instead, I fill that sucker up regularly. Banana peels galore, coffee grounds almost everyday, used G&T lemon wedges, cilantro stems from the night before's dinner, pumpkins that turned into jack-o-lantern's then turned into moldy, stumpy, rotted messes that sit on the porch too long after Halloween (these are actually the coolest things to throw into that sucker).

Over and over, for weeks and weeks, months and months I keep cramming stuff into that left side of the composter and I tumble it around. Then after about six months I switch to the right side and leave the left alone except for the occasional tumble. All the while the bugs are inside and making babies and turning that kitchen waste into fertile soil. After 6 months or more of sitting alone and steaming, that compost is ready to be put into my garden, now rich and ready to grow things.

Here's the simile so pay attention.

First, writing is a lot like using that composter. I write a ton of stuff and most of it is trash. It's not till I've tumbled it around in my brain and written a bit more and revised and edited and rewritten that it becomes at all worthwhile. When I'm putting it in it's like that rotting pumpkin. Usually, hopefully, when I put it into book form it comes out as something worthwhile.

Simile number two . . . I leave lots of my stuff on the shelve to age. Just like my composter allows me to leave my garbage alone just to tumble and age, I leave my writing to the same. I leave it alone and write on something else then I come back to it and fine tune it.

I'm working on my third novel now. Tentatively titled Vapor Trail, it is a follow up to On the Edge (see here and below cover image) and I'm hoping to release it this fall. I'm rewriting it for the final time right now and I'm stunned by how different it is from that first trash I put in. Characters names and types are changes. The plot is different. The setting has changed twice. It's a completely different story than the one I started. This is what got me thinking about that composter. I used that composted soil in my herb garden the other day and it was completely broken down. That's the way this story is now that I've tumbled it around and lead it age.

It used to bother me how much writing and rewriting was necessary to produce a finished work, but now I see that it's just a necessary part of the process. If I just threw the trash I wrote out on the web it would be exactly that (and truthfully, there's already a bit too much trash out on the Internets right now). It takes time to get it just right. Vapor Trail is in the tumble phase and the maggots are squirming around in it now turning it into something epic. The only problem as I see it is that I'm the maggot in that metaphor.