Waiting for Wisdom

Those are good words for me as I think about my week--the first full one with all of my kids back in school. I did spend a lot of time with my manuscript (oh, how I've missed it), making little changes, adding depth to scenes, trying to cut words.

I'm still stuck on the first three chapters. I've been stuck on them forever, it seems. These have been my most critiqued, with two Genesis, and one First Impressions entries, and the critique has been good. Worth the money, nerves, and false hope? I don't know yet. There is a learning curve with entering contests. It still creates a lot of unnecessary stress for me.

But I do know it has been good for my story to edit it with the voice of one of the judges in my brain: "Your character seems like she is just being carried along."

I was defensive about it at first. "That's kind of the point," I said out loud as I read the critique. But six months later, a freelancer who offered to edit a chapter for free made an almost identical comment. That's what it took for me to see the truth in it. That's how long I had to wait for wisdom.

Once I had that sweet nugget of wisdom, I got to work. Again. I revised the first three chapters for the umpteenth time (I literally have no idea how many times I've revised it). Instead of my character getting yanked around by oppressive forces without voicing her thoughts about any of it, I've revised those early pages to show how she longs to be loved. That's the driving force of the next 60,000 words. Now it's built into the beginning. Such an improvement! Why haven't I seen it until now?

Four years ago when I typed "Chapter One" my character was little more than a scared child, watching events unfold. Then she became a bumbling klutz, incompetent at household chores (some elements of that I have kept for the sake of the story). For a time she lacked maternal instincts, resenting her role as care-taker of young siblings, I but revised that too, making her joy and her consolation her presence in her siblings' lives.

When I think about who she was four years ago compared to who she is now, I realize that I have simply been getting to know her. She has revealed herself to me over these years, often through others' critique.


It was they who showed me she was flat, cliche, and unlikable. Now she's full-bodied and real. Her longings are clear and consistent. They make sense. It's not just about the story anymore. It's about this flesh and blood person who lives in the story. It has taken this long for me to get here.



I'm convinced it could not have come any quicker. I'm too slow to learn from critique. My imagination needs time to receive it, to think on it, meditate, make connections, and to build layer upon layer.

So for the rest of wisdom, I will wait, and I will continue to work, to revise, and to submit for critique. Because, like Calvin, I can ascribe nothing to myself.