Editing Woes

I've heard there are two kinds of writers. The ones who enjoy writing the first draft, and the ones who enjoy editing the living crap out of it. [This is probably a vast oversimplification. Forgive me.]

I tend to be very precise in my language. In relationships, this tends to irritate people, because I force them to be accurate with their words and am often found asking multiple questions to define what a conversational partner really thinks. So, for some reason, I always assumed I would be the "editing the living crap out of it" person. The person who enjoys the time spent going over and over and over a draft.

Humph. 'Tis not so.

My first draft is finished. It topped out at 92k, was cut down many times (and got as low as 75), and is now back up to the mid 80s. So, obviously, I've done some serious editing... right?

But it doesn't feel like it. And my brain is still jam packed with new ideas every day. Things I could/should/might change. Things that irk me. Insecurities about whether my plot is too simple or my character is too wimpy.

Yet, I'm not writing. Haven't in about two weeks. It's like having analysis paralysis... but with words. Boo.

For now, my excuse is that I haven't had time. Which is true. I've been extremely busy with my day job and blog and visiting with family and friends, so I haven't had any large chunks of time with which to really put an editing dent in this book. So, it's harder to start.

I remember when I was a lifeguard in High School. If I only worked a few days per week, it was always hard to get up and go. But, when I was packed and worked a shift every day, it became a habit to slip into that awful one piece swimsuit and drive my jeep to work. I want writing to be my habit again.

Side note: Why does having coffee anywhere in my vicinity make my sweat? I haven't even taken a sip of it yet. It's sitting a foot away. Yet, here I am, twisting my hair into a bun. Sweating.

Here's to habits. To good ones. To damn good writing habits. Here we go...