Sometimes you blather on and on about the most trivial details. Others, you can't think of a word worth saying. It happens.
The rewrites are spinning wheels trying to find traction in the icy mud. Or muddy ice. Whichever metaphor works for you.
I have a nasty feeling I'm a one draft and it's done type of person. I'm not talking grammar gaffs and spelling snafus. I'm talking meat and potato plot stuff. I'm afraid that once I'm done with a story, I'm done with a story.
Which bites. But what can you do?
Anyway, haven't given up on the drafts yet. I also stumbled onto an unfinished fragment that I've strove to finish. While I like it, I put it among the stories I doubt will sell. Which means I'll put up here, so that it will at least know some of the joy of being read.
On this, I've rediscovered my What If, the book on writing exercises I mentioned back in the way back. Might go through some exercises and post them here.
This is a Writer's Journal, after all.
Whatever comes, comes. I might stumble on something else to talk about. There's time.
Have I rattled on long enough to make my title ironic...? Or do I need to go spy on some royalty...? Nah. Might be confused with paparazzi. Wouldn't want that. Man's got to have standards. Like "Neither a borrower nor a..."
Yeah, that's pushing it.
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