It has been a couple weeks since I put down the story I’ve been working on. I considered that it had been edited, rewritten, polished and practically error-free up to just within the last couple of pages, the last scene. It is not.
I blue penciled my way through last weekend, and have put any further free time consigned to writing towards reading, playing (IF) and critique of others’ pieces for our upcoming workshop. What better thing to do than to throw in my own story at this point and view it with the same critical eye as the others. And so, a silly thirteen page story is being rewritten yet again.
How could I have let this go by?
Oh, there’s a much better way of saying this, I’m sure.
That doesn’t sound right, hmmm.
Shoot, that wouldn’t work, it doesn’t follow suit.
And on, and on. But it’s done more quickly now, the eye scans more easily past passages that do, in fact, sound right. The flaws show up that much more obviously, when settled in among some better phrasing. Perhaps, with any luck at all, I’ll reach the end, and only go through it once or twice more.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Good for you! This is how worthwhile fiction is written. Many, many revisions. Excellent!