Still revising the same story I mentioned last March. A piece drafted two years ago. Short stories are sly and merciless like that, quick to consume but take forever to create. Come on, tell me something new, I beg the lines as I do yet another reread. Our relationship is akin to that of a frustrated mother and her difficult child (I guess the adjectives could be flipped). I believe so much in this story, it’s something that is meant to be told; I won’t let it languish in the drawer of aborted drafts. There was a time when I felt it was ready and I sent it to battle, green and ill-equipped (what incompetent commander I make sometimes.)
All the ingredients are in the pot, but I can’t capture the desired flavour. I’ll stop before my metaphors get any worse.
I’ll work with it for a few more days and send it out to the world to judge.