When I write a book I feel like I have the curse of Muad’Dib. I see all potential futures and I want to walk them all. But I can’t. I am forced to narrow the scope and limit the story. With every word I type I destroy aspects of the multiverse until the book is done and a single vision remains. How cruel of me to snuff their story and stifle their voice. I weep for the worlds that did not survive and mourn the characters that never lived.
Then I begin to edit. Oh, what wondrous magic editing is. I soon forget what never was and ruminate again on what could be. Ghosts of the never written forgive me and I turn them into guardian angels. They whisper in my ear to add fresh life, deeper insights, new purpose to those that survived to the page, and by doing so live again.
For me, writing a book is about destroying possibilities, and editing is about bringing them back to life.