The problem with stories is they require people. I’m not talking about author and reader—though they, as well as their relationship, are fraught with challenges too—but rather the individuals that populate the story itself.
If the first draft allows the writer to indulge in a carefree orgy of imagination, a Wild West of whimsy, and a devil-may-care series of experiments, then the editing process demands the writer to abstain, rein it in, and exorcise a host of demons.
The Social Security Administration recently released the top baby names for 2011. I know this because I can’t NOT click on an article about baby names.
In an earlier post, I defined a dabbler as someone who has yet to write one million words while simultaneously implying that the one million words benchmark might be less of a milestone than a state of mind.
I’m not a master poker player by any means, but while reading through the first draft of my latest novel, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Friday night card games from my high school days.
While weighing the pros and cons of offering sample chapters of my as-of-yet-unpublished works of fiction on this website, it occurred to me that there could be little harm in posting a short story that could never be published anywhere other than a blog.