Not every draft asks to be laid out, looked at, possibly cut with scissors, marked up with arrows and sticky notes. But this one did. Does. Last week I began an essay, “On Swimming and the Origins of String”, and yesterday I finished it. Finished a draft. It was a work that called to me in the night so that I was the woman in her nightdress, coming down the stairs in the dark, toes testing the air to make sure I was where I thought I was on the staircase. I worked in the light of my small desk lamp and I worked during the day, once gazing out to see a doe at the edge of the woods, gazing back. Which is appropriate, because there are deer in this essay. Artemis makes an appearance, her bow in one hand.
Some writers have an outline, a template, maybe even a chart to be used as a map when they begin to write. I had something of a map in mind but I have to say this essay quickly took me off the main road onto rough tracks, or into water I wasn’t expecting. For me, this is always the best way. I write to find things out, to see things in a new light. I love the light of early morning and I love starlight. One of those illuminates this essay. With a rewrite, the other might find a place too.
Today I’ll be reading and looking and adjusting. Sometimes a section is in the wrong place. Helping it to find a better place makes all the difference. Sometimes a section I thought I wrote turns out not to be there. (How did that happen?) So I scribble in the margins. I can’t always see the shape of something on my computer screen. A paragraph I thought was early, pivotal, turns out be placed too late to do what I hoped it would do. I love this work. When I woke early, around 5, I felt excitement and it took me a moment to realize why. It was because I decided last night to print out the draft and work on it today as a physical object, like a textile or painting, trimming, snipping, adding a new colour or scrap of beautiful cotton.
Seeing the painting and thinking about the Abakans, I find myself wondering about how to make a partial turn from the quilting I love so well to constructing something organic and emblematic of the ideas I have constantly: the cradle of the earth, the lines connecting us to the living world, the temporary and permanent nests we yearn for and abandon. I think of gathering rope to add to the stash I’ve picked up on beaches, roadsides, and then somehow knitting it into huge bags to hold, well, what? Something, if only possibility. I think of those ropes at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis, coiled in readiness, and I imagine the scent of them, ripe and redolent with that possibility.
...Theresa Kishkan 
“…I decided last night to print out the draft and work on today as a physical object, like a textile or painting, trimming, snipping, adding a new colour or scrap of beautiful cotton.” What a wonderful image.
I did those things yesterday, Carin, marking with one of the grandkids’ red markers, sketching in possible changes, and adding a note: embellish this.
Interesting approach
Some essays don’t need this hands-on adjusting and fixing but I have to say I love the work of it when they do.
I like paper. I need the writing and moving it around.
There’s something very satisfying about making notes on a paper draft! Even cutting bits out and pasting them elsewhere.
Ohhh, I was very excited when I saw the image for this post, even before I read it. It really does feel like something special when you reach the point where it’s “ready-enough” for paper. One of many stages of readiness, I suppose, but a very important one. *raises cup*
Working on paper helps me to see something clearly in all its parts. I used to spread out manuscripts in the old days of typewriters and white-out and maybe I haven’t really evolved much since then…