This morning, before embarking on an afternoon trip to Mom and Dad’s, I finished the story I’ve been working on for the past three Sundays. A revision of a story I’d revised countless times during my tenure in the Lesley program, it seems to me that this should be my last stab at it. That is, if I can’t get this version of it to work, I should probably let it rest.
A short piece, its narrative arc overlaps with several chapters of my novel. In fact, it was in writing this piece, and dealing with these characters again after a long absence from them, that I was first inspired to work on my novel just over a year and a half ago. And while the novel explores a great deal of material, there is certainly room for this short story, which tells a portion of the whole ordeal from a different point-of-view.
We’ll see how it turns out, how it reads to others when I send it out to a select few people this week, and then, next Sunday, I’ll get back to work.
At first, when it was suggested to me that I concentrate on working only one day a week, and be satisfied that I could do even that, I didn’t think it would work. But it is working. Though I long for more time to write, it seems that writing one day a week is just enough for me at the moment. It keeps me feeling like I’m making progress, but it isn’t so overwhelming that I think of it as a burden.