The Problem with Rain

The problem with rewriting is the rain.

 

Nothing against rain, of course.

 

I like rain. I like walking in it. I like watching it. I like listening to it. I like feeling it on my face, battering it or caressing it, I don’t care which.

 

But when I’m rewriting, and can’t think how to fix a problem in the draft and I’m not even sure exactly what the problem in the draft is except I know there is one because the narrative in its present state certainly doesn’t work or is missing something and I’m getting increasingly frustrated and I’ve run out of things to throw across the room to vent my frustration … Then I like to walk and think things through.

 

You see, for some inexplicable reason (a jarring of the brain cells?) walking helps me think things through, and as I think things through, I make notes, usually on a little voice recorder, sometimes in a notebook (trouble with a notebook is you look a complete nerd jotting notes as you walk, as if you’re a dreamy fey poet divining his muse from nature), and gradually the notes turn into an idea for reworking the narrative and suddenly – bingo! – the rewriting logjam is cleared and the redraft is flowing.

 

It usually works.

 

Except in the rain, because when it’s raining, neither voice recorder nor notebook works, the voice recorder because it has this habit of fizzling and crackling into silence when it gets wet and the notebook because it tends to disintegrate into a soggy mess when wet and my writing’s bad enough when dry but totally illegible as a sodden mush.

 

And that’s my reason – my excuse, to put it another way – for sitting at my desk for two hours before breakfast yesterday morning with the intention of rewriting the draft I’m working on (draft #15, actually) and producing half a page of scribbled non sequitur ideas all of which came to a dead end, followed by another two hours later in the morning that produced roughly the same.

 

Ideas have dried up, I suppose.  Right now, I wish the rain would dry up, too.

 

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