Rolling Down The Words

           If you’ve ever painted a room, you know that rolling on fresh paint is the dramatic part of the job – the part where you see the most progress for the least effort. I’m now in a point in writing Ellen, a novel, which is very much like rolling new paint on a properly prepped wall.

Just picking a color can be excruciating. It’s as if I’ve been looking at paint chips for years. I know I’ve considered several completely different ways of telling this story – just the way I’ve fretted over the color chart when considering new paint for a room.

Once, I picked what appeared to be a lovely pink for my study. Applied to the walls, the room resembled the interior of a bubblegum bubble. I repainted completely; the second time I choose a hue that appeared almost white on the sample, and which went on as a calming, pale rose. This was the room I wrote in for ten hectic years when I had three babies, two jobs, and a small farm. Getting the color right was arduous, but well worth the effort.

After choosing the color, the hard work begins: pushing the furniture to the center of the room, taking the artwork off the walls, unscrewing the switch plates, discovering an accumulation of dust and dirt as well as a few lost treasures (earrings, change, socks), and cleaning.

And there’s still more to do: I drape and mask what needs to be protected from being painted. This is just as important as knowing what to leave out of a story, which is often more difficult than knowing what to leave in.

Even applying the paint isn’t all slick and easy. I use an edger to separate the walls from the ceiling and trim. It’s tedious, but it keeps the edges neat – something like the justified margins of a published book, as well as the clear plot lines of the story.

But there’s no question: when all that prep work is done, the painting is fun. That’s where I am with Ellen right now: after almost two years of intense preparation, I’m rolling down sentences and seeing the clean color of the story emerge.

I know there’s lots more to do, just like applying that last lick of paint means I’m about halfway done with the job. I know that there will be revision, just as after the paint dries, there’s hardware to replace, furniture to polish, curtains to hang – as well as brushes to clean. The finish work can take a long time.

I’m not there yet. I’m in that delicious place where I’m spreading words on a page like paint on a wall. It’s going well, and I’m having fun.

 Deborah Lee Luskin is a novelist, essayist and educator. Listen to a recent radio broadcast here, and learn more about her award-winning novel, Into the Wilderness here.