In my quest to decrease my word count, I hacked out most of an early chapter, removing a whole event. That was hard, but I had to ask myself, was that section really necessary? How much did it add to the storyline? In my first draft, that part wasn't there - I'd added it to add some conflict and expand on some characters, but if you didn't know it had been there, would you miss it?
The joy of things these days is we have the internet. I don't know how many novels I've read where I wished I could read more, I just liked the characters so much. So why not post some of the cut sections on the blog? When you buy a movie on DVD these days, you inevitably get cut scenes.
I've been thinking about Saratoga this past week, trying to start planning the annual trek. So perhaps a little clip making reference to the Spa would be appropriate.
Lise glanced over to where her parents stood with the winning owners. She and Emilie had come with Claude and Anne, and Lise knew they didn’t plan on staying long. “We’ll probably have to go soon.”
“Oh, stick around for a bit. The way you’re skyrocketing to stardom, how often are we going to see each other from now on? Dean and I could drive you back. You too, Em.”
“I really should go with them,” Lise said. “I’m heading back to New York in the morning.”
“Yeah, and you probably don’t have to get up half as early as you normally would, so I’m not buying that excuse. But I guess it’s good to know New York hasn’t corrupted you, when I couldn’t.”
“You should come down for a weekend,” Lise said.
“Now that would be fun – if I could afford it.”
“Saratoga!” Emilie chimed in. “Road trip!”
“You’re sixteen, Em!” Lise said.
“So? You’re eighteen. And Faye’s just twenty, so she’s not even legal down there.”
Faye was looking thoughtful. “I might have to work on that.”
Lise felt a twinge of regret as she looked out from the back seat of her father’s Jag when he drove out of the backstretch, aware she was once more leaving the comfort of Woodbine behind. It was odd to feel like a visitor, making such a short stay. Tomorrow, it was back to Belmont. In three short weeks she had achieved renown there, but she still felt out of place. Before her string of winners in New York, she’d been a spectacle – a woman in a man’s game, Canadian, and the daughter of a major owner in her home country. Now, though she may have been forgiven some of those things, the scrutiny had only escalated. She hadn’t anticipated this part of her chosen career, and couldn’t imagine ever getting used to the public aspect of her inadvertent popularity.
I consider myself a closet novelist - and this is what I've been hiding in the closet. This blog contains excerpts from the story, musings on Thoroughbred horse racing, and some of my thoughts as I contemplate trying to get published.