Friday, October 19, 2012

Not allowed



Last night I wrote a little story from a pile of notes I’d accumulated over a couple of weeks. It took about two hours, which is actually pretty slow, considering that it’s 949 words long. The weird thing is, I feel guilty for liking the little thing.

Oh, it’s not perfect. I have to fix the bit in the middle where I omitted to say what was going on, and there’s a lot of stuff at the top that could be trimmed down because while it sets the tone, it doesn’t necessarily progress the story or draw people in. I started copying and pasting the frame so I have to update that now. And I rewrote the ending on scrap paper in bed at 2am so I could fall asleep.

Also, the structure has a conceit that might make the story only entertaining to me. I wonder if that’s why I like it – because I suspect I’m the only one that will get the joke.

UPDATED 22/10/2012: 
Until I read the thing. And then I hate it like everything else. My voice annoys me. 

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