Don’t think I’ve started writing narrative in shorter form because of, but rather spurred on by next semester’s Creative Writing course, but the new format has both confirmed and revealed much about my writing progress, as well as developed a dilemma for which I wonder how to seek solutions.
It always has seemed that what I’m writing now is so much smoother, cleaner, more professional and engaging than what has gone before; so much so that I cringe at what I considered good so recently. It being the case that improvement is ongoing then, shall I smile with satisfaction at the end of each narrative and then shelve it with no attempt to submit, knowing that I can and will do better?
As I learn about new mediums such as what I’ve learned in hyperfiction with the addition of graphics or sound, or even what the simple comic book employs to produce a flow of story, that in turn teach me how to produce the same within simple text, the additional knowledge and common experience of yesterday, today, and with luck, tomorrows, leave their marks upon my written words. Flash fiction–once abhorrent to me–is now a part of me as strong as rambling run-on sentences that I joyfully return to in homage to McCarthy.
But, where does it end–or rather begin? When will I feel something is good enough, polished to perfection, a day, a week, a month after it has been so-called "finished"?
In this new year of doing, grabbing, taking risks while learning, shall I cap the flow before it merges with the sea? Need I wait, till crumbling in my grave, a book is published that bears my name.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology