There it was. On my credenza. Twenty three pages worth. I stared at it for a long time tonight.
Funny. The story came to me in a flash, laid out easy. I could see it clearly.
Writing it, however, not so easy. I have notes from as far back as November 2008.
No, it's not the Magna Carta, nor is it bound to make women weep and men change religions.
Yet, I treated it as such.
Nervously, I handed the thing to my wife tonight, making her put down the book she was already reading, actually enjoying.
Twenty three pages, almost a year in the making, pouring over each edit like my life depended on it, and I got a polite "Eeh, it was...OK." when she finished.
I know there's a reason I write. I just wish I knew what the heck it was.
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Failed comic, witer of things, and world class smart (family edit)!!!
Failed comic, witer of things, and world class smart (family edit)!!!
1 comment:
Keep writing my friend. Push through. Find a way to be grateful for the people who love you enough to be honest. It will make you better. At least that's what I tell myself when Bart has a lukewarm reaction over my attempt at bleeding on the page. :)
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