Writing is like shoelaces...

This is an image I get in my head whenever I’m revising - my fingers twined in laces, pulling things tighter, smoother. I always picture skate laces for some reason (I’m Canadian?), but shoelaces work just as well.

And the more I think about it, the more the metaphor works.

The first draft is a quick-and-dirty lace-up. Getting things roughly where they’re supposed to go in roughly the right order.

But when you lean back to take a better look, you realize the laces are twisted and lumpy, you’ve missed a bunch of eyelets along the way, and the ends aren't quite the same length. Some of the scenes aren't working right, there are holes in your plot, and the end of the story doesn't quite match what you set out to do in the beginning.

Sometimes you have to unpick things almost all the way in order to untangle the mess. Sometimes you have to do it a few times. But each time you re-lace things, the process is a little smoother.

You learn how to untwist and untangle the laces. You aim for all the eyelets. You make sure the ends come out the same length. You weave the crossed threads of the plot firmly together.

And then, once everything is neat, you need to tighten everything up. To get your fingers deep in there and painstakingly tease out all the slack. While still making sure the ends stay the same length. Cleaning up the prose. Streamlining the plot. Hitting your page count.

Only then do you get to tie things off.

I don't know why I find this imagery so profoundly satisfying, but I really do. Maybe it offers me a way to re-frame things when I'm looking at a really tragic first draft? Maybe it makes cutting things along the way a little easier? I'm not sure.

But next time you feel the threads of a plot coming together under your hands, I dare you not to think of shoes...