I’m in the process of rewriting my current manuscript, a process that I had dreaded because that first read-through can be a painful process. I hadn’t read my manuscript since I’d started writing it, so I had no idea if what I had written would stink thoroughly. Was the pacing good? The characters’ motivation? Was there anything salvageable?
Thank goodness, I’ve gotten halfway through the manuscript and my instincts tell me the story flows. I’m getting back into my hero and heroine’s story, their angst and uncertainties. I’m rewriting, of course, tightening up things here and there; deleting unnecessary lines and paragraphs, but for the most part, I’m allowing their story to remain. The bones are good.
I’ve included a photo of a recent trip I took to Paris. Four days in Paris in May: bliss. The weather was perfect, the temperatures warm. The real tourist season hadn’t started. The college students were all over the place. So many junior year abroad American and Canadian students wandering around the Left Bank. I was there twenty-nine years ago, rushing around from one end of the city to another going to classes at the different branches of the University of Paris including the Sorbonne. On this visit, I stayed with my former roommate. She met a Frenchman that year and came back to marry him after graduation.