Last week I discussed the “black moment” of writing, and Greg Frost commented that author Maureen F. McHugh said that the dark moment was followed by “slogging.” Well, my black moment has passed, and I am thoroughly in the midst of the slog.
My first 7 chapters needed the most revision. Luckily, my husband and preschooler went away for the weekend, so I was forced to move past my dark moment and jump into editing with both feet. No time to wallow in self-pity when you have childless writing time available!
Thus the slog began.
I have been slogging ever since, plowing though a chapter at a time, making sure everything fits with the revised first 7 chapters, as well as deleting repetition (a big one for me) and unneeded inner monologue (another biggie for me). I also need to deepen some setting and make my protagonist’s reactions a little more relateable in spots. So, a long way to go (238 pages as of this writing).
The good news is, having taken the plunge with those first chapters and wrestling them into shape in a 10-hour writing marathon, the slog is getting easier. It’s less like plodding through waist-deep mud and more like wading along the edge of the ocean. My feet are getting wet, sometimes up to my knees, and the water pushes and pulls at me, but it’s more pleasant than torturous. Finishing those first 7 chapters has made the revision of the rest of the book much clearer. I can see the focus of each scene better now, see why it works or doesn’t, and how to make it forward the plot strongly.
So I made it through the black moment and am making progress on the slog. And at the end of it all, I will have a stronger, more marketable product. But most of all, I will have completed the work to the best of my ability–and that is a victory in itself.
Where are you in your project? Slogging or soaring?

Tales from Silver Lands by Charles J. Finger
I am a firm believer that, at bottom, people are more similar than they are different. The cultural differences we have grown into due to geography and environment and years of local traditions are, in the main, things we have learned. Most people want the same things—to live in peace, to have enough to eat and drink, to have a decent place to live, and for their families to be happy and healthy.
I might have mentioned that I am reading my way through the Newbery Award winners (follow my progress on Goodreads). I just finished Charles J. Finger’s Tales from Silver Lands, which is a collection of Native Indian tales from South America. The book won the Newbery in 1925.
The stories within fall into two broad categories: “creation myths” that explain how a place or a landmark or an animal came to be, or “hero myths” where a hero takes on evil and dispatches it with his virtuous power.
In spite of being tales from a civilization so far removed from my own, the tales were relatable and familiar. Of course, Joseph Campbell’s “Hero’s Journey” was in evidence. But the basic tenets—the urge to explain the mysteries of the world and that good will overpower evil—are universal.
Like many good books, this one transported me to a cultural time and place vastly unfamiliar—yet within it I found people just like us.