23 February 2012

0 oh, paris



last summer i went to paris and a story sat down next to me. so i lived it and wrote about it and submitted it everywhere. and, of course, it met with rejections all around. embittered, i ignored it for five months. last week, it caught my attention again.

this is how writing goes. you get words down on the page and then you tear that page to shreds. from 1,100 words you pare it down to 497. you let it sit for five months and then you think, no, wait. this could really do something at 1,500, and so you go back in and blow it back up like a balloon. then you make tiny tweaks here and there, all the while hoping that the seams don't show, that the air doesn't get out. praying that, in the end, its frankensteinishness won't be as obvious to everyone else as it is to you.

and so what i've got now is four pages. four pages that are maybe 85% there writing wise, and yet thematically completely jacked. there are four themes in those four pages. and i'll readily admit that is absurd.

this is the part of writing that is like painting. the part where you go back in and add the colors and shadows and depth. secretly, i love this stage. it's the only time in my life that i ever feel like bob ross.

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