raw and wriggling, precious…
following an unexpectedly chaotic day of classes (technology is, like, awsum!), my brief writing time was spent trying to revise Running on Empty.
to no avail.
as usual, i was seeing the seams in the fabric, the puckers in the hems, and was beginning to slide down into disgust. not that i dislike the story, though. i think there’s a lot of great stuff going on, that it’s a good fun ride, and there’s even a number of great possibilities that the story could easily grow into.
but not yet.
there’s still the matter of those slightly awkward lines, that potentially jarring plot jump, the …
and that’s where my wife stepped in, thankfully.
just send it.
*gasp* *horror* but i haven’t revised it!
you don’t need to. just send it.
*choke* *cough* but what about those lines, that plot jump…?
okay, so it’s a little rough in places, but is that so bad?
(my ears began to close in on themselves in the presence of such bald heresy. fortunately for my long-term sanity, my wife was faster)
maybe that roughness, that edge, is a good thing. maybe you’ve been polishing too long and too minutely in the past. maybe it’s time to try something a little more fresh, a little more visceral and imperfect, and see what comes of it.
but . . . but . . .
but i knew she was right, even as i knee-jerked against it. if i started down the path of revision at this point, i could well kill the energy of the piece with kindness. i’ve certainly done it before.
and in the end, what could i lose? the story was intended as a good ride, not a piece of profound art. perhaps its time to get a little more dirty. if it doesn’t find a home, then i can revise it, and see what to do with it. right now, though, why not take the chance?
because i was afraid. i still am, actually, but that doesn’t matter.
i’m doing it anyway.