Sunday, May 8, 2011

to read oneself

A story has returned from an unsuccessful sally into the world. For months, it only existed, for me, in memory. Physically, the story went somewhere and is now returned. Intellectually, the opposite has occurred.

It's not to be a stranger reading the story fresh. I recognize the words as my own. I've been thinking about the story and these characters for months.

I find a section that's thin, though I remember it as richly drawn. I realize I didn't take the story where it needed to go. I chickened out in the hardest scene. I imposed an ending. These truths come clear.

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