Unpacking

I recently went on a very big holiday. It was long, and it was expensive, a bit like one of those huge Toblerones you see in airports. I won't go into the details of where I went as I don't want anyone to form any undeserved suspicions of a jet-set lifestyle on my part. Suffice it to say that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. It was something I'd often thought about, and something which required a lot of planning. It was booked nearly two years in advance, and during all that time the anticipation was very sweet indeed. I did research into what to expect and more crucially what I would need to pack. I bought and read books about the place, soaking myself in it. Then, as the actual event became a reality, I worried that my preparations were inadequate. I became anxious that plans within the holiday itself would go awry, but it was too late by then to do anything, so off I went, into what was certainly one of the most remarkable experiences of my life.

You may be asking yourself why I don't just get over myself and tell you where I went. Initially I didn't want to say because I felt it detracted from the point I was going to make, and that point is this: On returning from this truly epic trip, jetlagged and wearied by the Picadilly Line, I began the tiresome task of unpacking. It occurred to me that this unpleasant feature of the end of a holiday is in many respects like that of writing a book. You had the initial excitement of the original idea. This, you thought, has legs. At this moment it is all things. Like the holiday before it's booked (no pun intended) it can be anything and go anywhere. Then however, you have to make choices. Narrow down your options. Book the holiday. But there is still the fun of the anticipation. Doing the research, selecting further possibilities within the framework of what you have committed to. This is a great period because you can be creative with consequence. Ideas can flow freely without necessarily having to connect to one another.  But then comes the holiday itself, and in this analogy, the writing of the first draft. At this point you have to firm up your plans and get everything in a coherent order.

It is at this stage that my analogy breaks down somewhat. I am not comparing writing a first draft to going on a dream holiday in terms of the pleasure inherent in either. That would be ridiculous. The holiday was wonderful in every way. Hammering out a first draft is more like running a marathon. The finishing line is rewarding but getting there is a slog. What I'm comparing (and I'm keen to clear this up before I accidentally introduce any more analogies) is the one-way direction of narrative. Once undertaken, your holiday itinerary becomes fixed. And once written, so does your first draft.

So what of the unpacking? Well, this tedious post-event chore has to be done whether the event was going on a lovely holiday or finishing your first draft. Note I didn't say writing  your first draft. This can for some be an awful chore in itself, but I think everyone can agree that completing one is a thoroughly satisfying event.

The first draft is of course the first major step towards completing a novel, but it needs reviewing. You need to examine everything in it and ensure it is in the right place. It needs unpacking.

It doesn't have to be unpleasant. Think about what you've already achieved! This is a bit like looking at all the photographs of penguins you took on your expedition to an unspecified continent. Didn't you have a good time? Of course you did, but now it's time to get back to work, whether that be editing a second draft or removing a leaking bottle of sunscreen from the Ziploc bag you had the foresight to seal it in. This last part isn't a metaphor for anything, it's just advice. Seriously, always seal your sunscreen before packing it.