Book Editing, Life Editing and a Short Sojourn in Scotland

As I've shared (many times) before, I have a dream..and I have a day job. Lately, I'm finding it impossible to focus on the former given the stress/busyness of the latter. Especially since my dream currently requires me to do one of my least favourite things: edit.

For some people, hell is other people. For me, hell is editing (and well sometimes other people). This whole multi-year process of editing my book, while driving me quite literally to drink (more), has me thinking about the myriad of ways we constantly edit our lives. Well, at least the online versions. Into perfectly curated little worlds that are Jones-ing worthy. We know a large percentage of it is a distortion of reality, but we contribute to the machine. Putting a happy or exciting or interesting filter on our lives that, on average, are similar in content to almost everyone else's.

It's somewhat humorous to me that I hate certain types of editing so much considering how happy I am to insta-edit my life into a lovely version of events. Events that include my face seemingly not getting too much older through the use of those magical filters (honestly I sometimes look in the mirror and am shocked when I see a new wrinkle. Who put that there?! That was definitely not in my last insta story!). 

The only thing I have a really hard time editing, outside of my writing, is what I say. I find it exhausting. In addition to our online presence, we all have our day-to-day personas that are constantly being "managed." I mean obviously, there are some “time and place” arguments that apply to what we say in certain situations with certain people. But we're all so incredibly, and I would say needlessly, protective of the version of us that we share. So much so that people are afraid to share their truths. Someone once said to me "I appreciate that you’re so vulnerable because it makes me feel comfortable being vulnerable." We all go through the same stuff. And I think hiding that perpetuates this idea that others don’t have to deal with what we’re dealing with. That something is wrong with us or that it's somehow shameful to share what we're going through. I often find myself thinking it'd be easier if we collectively let it all hang out. I guess that could get messy.

But I digress...back to the real editing. The book. How on earth do you decide what exactly

to edit when all of the stories are your stories? If you deem something to not be special or important enough to include...well then what is? Why would anyone care about the rest? And so begins the writing spiral of self-doubt. I'm writing mostly based on a year I spent in Japan. And I will tell anyone that Japan is the best. It resulted in the most memorable year of my life.

But even on my most life-changing weekend there, where I stayed in a villa overlooking the sea, it was overrun with cockroaches and mice and pretty much every bug you could easily name. I wrote about that, but when I wrote about my big moment of realization by the sea, I took out the description of the piles of rubbery seaweed mixed with broken bottles and condoms that lay at the edge of the shore. I edited it for the sake of a crisp clean view of a beautiful moment. It doesn't tell the whole story. But which parts matter? Which parts provide the necessary colour? It's not an easy task.

So I've got this new "bright idea" where I combine my trips or weekends away with editing work to make it a little more exciting. Recently I decided to take advantage of the fact that my parents had rented a cottage in Scotland and I bought a ticket to join them hoping for some downtime to edit amidst the atmospheric backdrop. Scotland doesn't get old for me. But the cottage was too good. I'd forgotten how much the highlands resonate with the introverted and craggy writer that lives inside me. And being away from home and work was too much of a soul rejuvenator to waste too much time on something as mundane as editing.

Some quick notes on Scotland:

Edinburgh: Oh man. I love Edinburgh. The vibe is consistently joyful and full of life. Even when it's not festival time. That means lots of tourists...but I'm okay with that. I saw the coolest Camera Obscura and a bunch of other optical illusions near the castle. Hiked to the top of Arthur's Seat (a massive hill overlooking the city) and watched the sunset with a beer and some chips. Ate at the most wonderful restaurant, the Outsiders, with a view of the castle, fancy meals at not-so-fancy prices and bin end wine super cheap. I strolled around Leith listening to the Proclaimers, caught some live jazz and devoured local seafood. And toured the beautiful Royal Brittania. 

The highlands: We stayed on a castle property (Poltalloch) near Lochgilpead and a bunch of smaller towns. We had tea at the Crinan Canal with a view of the Loch and the hills. Visited our old family farm near Tay Vallach and had whisky and seafood stew at the water's edge at a lively pub, where pretty much everyone in the area congregates.

We drank beer, accompanied by a rich beef pie with the flakiest fresh crust, at a cozy pub on a dark and rainy afternoon after visiting the Cairns at Kilmartin. We hiked and I ran around the beautiful castle property that is still inhabited by the Malcolm (McCallum - my Mom's maiden name) chief and his family, amidst ruins and cows and sheep and the most beautiful castle garden, which was basically our own private backyard oasis. Green and lush, it was so beautiful in the sun I almost wanted to cry. I definitely didn't ever want to leave. My mom turned to me at one point when we were sitting there together and said "I am so grateful for this moment." Me too.

And there was no wifi! The best. It was so nice to truly disconnect. I always wonder what it would have been like when I lived in Japan if I'd had a smartphone. I think it would have taken away so much from that experience as it was one of the most present times of my life. Today there's almost an expectation that you document everything. 

Glasgow: I have a soft spot for Glasgow, the area my family is from. My parents and I had a nice day and dinner here, and then I enjoyed a totally indulgent day of shopping and eating (Six by Nikko and Hanoi bike shop - both amazing) and strolling through shops and gardens.

Back to the writing. I had my Mom take a look at a few grammar conundrums I was dealing with while at the cottage, and she said to me quite wisely, "at some point you need to just stop editing and let someone else look at it. Let it go." There's that theme again...letting go. But trusting someone else with my vulnerable stuff? You wouldn't think I'd have a problem with that. I wear my heart and my stories (a large portion of them) on my sleeve. But something about critiquing something that I have struggled with and toiled over feels intimidating.

But I need to. I need to move on from this time in my life. The voice that wrote the original draft was sprightly and young and is now changing into my current voice with every edit. The times have also changed. My particular voice is not as relevant as it was even two years ago. I would love to believe that there is still a place for it, but if not I want to move on and contribute to something that will actually be useful. Purposeful.

Since coming back all of my attempts at treating editing like a part-time job have failed. So I have this very new thing I'm trying, where I force myself to edit for 30 minutes a day. No matter what. It's the egg timer technique. Plan for how much you want to write and then set the timer and go. Nothing else can happen during this time. If I don't do this, I can't watch TV or go to bed or whatever. It's a really fun rule ;). We'll see how long it sticks. It's been three whole days so far. 

Today during my mandatory 30 minutes of torture I got to a chapter that felt particularly nostalgic and I started to daydream about it. And I realized that the daydream felt a bit off, and it was because I was remembering it as I'd written it and not as it had happened. I've taken a few small liberties with this non-fiction. Everything happened but in a different order. Conversations were put into different venues or characters were merged to create a less disjointed storyline. But now I've read the written version of events so often that my brain is confusing these fake memories with the actual events. Pretty soon I'm going to start calling people by the pseudonyms in my book. I really must move on.

So here's once again to letting go. To editing ourselves less, and in a way that resonates with who we truly are. And to focusing on creating and enjoying, as opposed to striving for that perfectly edited version of life.

Wish me luck...and send me the name of a content editor!