My Unhappy Marriage

I have a confession to make. I dread editing. Hate it. With a passion.

I know that it's the most important part of the writing process, but it simply can't compare to the wild, heady rush of the first draft. Falling in love with my characters and world is magical and wonderful and the reason that I love writing.

In my opinion, editing is like marriage.

First, you look at your new husband/manuscript and think to yourself, why did I ever pick this person? What was I thinking? He's all wrong. His hair is unruly, his eyebrows bushy, and he's bloated around the middle. We won't even mention his toenail fungus. I've made a terrible decision!

Next, you think about how much he annoys you in the present and evades your attempts to improve him. You cut his hair too short, so he's got this strange asymmetrical hairdo. You over-pluck his eyebrows, so he's got this perpetual look of surprise. His flabby middle isn't improving no matter how many sit-ups you make him do--he may have even gotten a hernia for his efforts. And the toe fungus? Let's just say that Digger the Dermatophyte isn't going anywhere.

Finally, you look toward the future. You have this sinking realization that you are ashamed to be with him. You wish that you never would have married him. You're going to have to lock him in the house and never, under any circumstances, show him to anyone--like the wife in the attic in Jane Eyre. You might even pretend that you're single. It's better than the dreaded questions: What does your husband do? Can you show me a picture? Can I meet him some time?

Your blood, which used to run so hot, is so cold that you're about to die from hypothermia. Don't go to sleep--you might never wake up! There's only one thing to do. Get a divorce. Change your name. Pretend like this terrible marriage never happened.

Or...stay with him, faults and all. Fix what you can, and learn to love the rest. Look for his good points. His hair, despite being strange, is really thick and soft. His eyebrows have been growing back in. He's starting to lose weight, slowly but surely, and didn't you marry him for his appetite anyway? As for the toe fungus, call in the professionals. Give him some potent anti-fungals. The money is worth it in order to have clear, healthy pink toenails.

In the end, the only way to reap the benefits of marriage are to stay in it, work on it, figure out why you loved the person to begin with and build on your strengths together. You've got to face the pain in order to reap the benefits. Didn't anyone ever tell you that marriage--I mean, writing--is hard work?