Even though I plowed through and wrote, "The End" on my first 40,000 word novel, I'm not really done. I think this part is the hardest. Going through your manuscript and reading stuff that makes you wonder if you were smokin' something when you wrote it.
But what is even harder are all the other stories calling you from somewhere in your head. I have sixteen stories of an adultish nature and three that may be for older kids. Words ooze into my fingers that, well, I can't help but write a page or two before I stop and remember I was supposed to be doing something else.
Take this for example:
In second grade my neighbor, aka my tormenter, told me all about drowning kittens. His family couldn’t afford to keep them and they couldn’t afford to spay the mama so whenever she’d have a litter they would throw the babies into the river. He would go into detail about how they’d float for a while, their desperate cries blowing in the wind until the water pulled them down.
Today I threw her in the water. The bridge was the perfect spot. It was just two miles from her cabin in the mountains and known as a favorite among desperate people wanting to end their lives. With muscle relaxant running through her veins, she didn’t thrash around, much. It also silenced her voice. Like a rag doll, her arms flopped around while I hoisted her up and over the railing. The splash wasn’t as loud as I thought it would be. She kind of floated for a moment, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish in a bowl. When the water rose above her nose, her eyes widened, pleading for help.
“You shouldn’t have touched him.”
I have to continue... I'm not sure where I'll go but it's definitely got some bite to it. I write until my mind stops wandering and something else strikes me like this.
Lights were flashing. Green, yellow, and orange bounced off the shiny surfaces of the well-polished bar. The gay hum of conversation, glassware tinkling, laughter, and monotonous drone of football scores, contrasted with my dark thoughts.
I fingered my car keys. I knew I was too drunk to drive safely, but who would care. I could drive into the river and end it all.
Deep and dark, my mind wanders. Meanwhile, my little ghost story sits abandoned in a virtual drawer.
Someone teach me some discipline, please!
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