I love Kelly Myer’s concept of Kairos! I’m familiar with this article already and took a joint course between her and Emery Ross in advanced nonfiction. The concept of metanoia and regret is something I needed a bit of a refresher on, and even now I still find it a bit complex. The long allegory proposed by Fitzgerald and White computed in my brain to the phrase, “If you put a tuxedo on a monkey, in the end, it may still be a monkey.” Classy, I know.

Kidding aside, I really do see the forest through the trees with the way Myers groups action, movement, repentance, and remorse into this idea of metanoic revision. The idea of revision being a sort of trip wrought with paths the author embarks on can either be a hero’s journey, or you could end up a skeleton in the background of the dragon’s castle, adding a nice spooky touch for any other adventurers who are also foolish enough to try what you did. The prospect of key moments and opportunities constantly cropping up that you might be failing to take advantage of is overwhelming, but in the end, making it out alive is the goal, right?

I revised my nonficiton portfolio for Myer’s class; the revisions weren’t to extensive, but the suggestions both her and Ross made for me helped immensely. I’ve adapted their verbage into my style of ‘suggesting’— lots of “What if this was discussed at length? I’d love to hear more about that. I think this section is really shining.” Staying positive might seem like it doesn’t have enough teeth to really get to the heart of what truly bothers us about our writing and makes us wish it were better. But I found that when revising, if I have an angle to focus on what truly has value in the piece as recognized by myself of pointed out by someone else, what I want excised will come to me more easily.

As for reading on the emotional work of revision, I couldn’t believe how relatable all the students’ comments were; I actually started laughing, some of them felt so real. I especially related to Sherry and the concept of cringe. I know that’s essentially why I try to brand myself as a one-draft writer and remain reluctant to the idea of extensive and regular revision, but in the future I want to try to use that feeling as a sense of pride in myself that I have adapted to know what makes my writing good. 

There’s a really similar concept in visual art, especially among illustrators who strive to capture things that have a counterpart in reality. When drawing, your brain either creates an idea or sparks an image, then it outsources the job to your eyes and your hand. The two can be a team, but they can also mature at different rates; one awkward line, and your eye knows it doesn’t look right. That’s when you erase and try again, and that’s when your hand learns sharper coordination and more efficient mapping. But whatever your eye knows at any given time is different. Obviously, when drawing, if you’re a diligent artist you try your best to make as few errors as possible, but some are simply unavoidable because your eye cannot notice them. Then, when your eye learns more and more through looking at different works and again at your own, the chance to revise appears. The process feels a bit more straightforward to me than the process of revision; i.e. i’m a lot better at coming to terms with the fact that drawing a straight-on profile is hard simply because I don’t have a lot of practice doing it, but I’m harder on myself if I can’t get a sentence to come out the way I want it to because I’ve been speaking English since before I could stand on two feet.