As many of you know, I've got a little black pug who goes by the name Tinkerbell. Tink, our four-legged friend, does not use the toilet. Being a good little pooch, she uses the great outdoors to relieve herself. When we walk her around the park or down the street, we carry a baggie to dispose of her "doings" properly. (Darn, I love the use of "doings", almost as much as "leavings".) But at other times, her doopity-doops find their way onto our lawn. Guaranteed that if my son walks her, they will remain there until such time that I wander the yard, plastic bag and pooper scooper in hand.
As I make my way around our property, I am very clearly DECRAP-IFYING the lawn. Head down, eyes scanning a 180 degree area before me, I carefully step from one spot to the next, looking for that which sullies the lawn. In other words, I need to get the crap off the lawn before taking a carefree stroll about the yard, laying down weed killer, proper fertilizer and additional seed.
It's the same process with a novel. This may be crass, I realize, but my first drafts are littered with crap, and until I scoop that nasty stuff off the pages, there's not much sense working on the finer points. I'll just wind up stepping in a pile of my own "doings" and losing the attention to detail I need for the later revisions.
