Thought-Drive

I was happy for myself, about who I was. Someone invited me to a friend's "low country boil," and all I really heard was the opportunity to see an old friend that I hadn't greeted in person in many months. One of those things where we made plans that quietly and repeatedly fell through. The invite triggered a commitment, a resolution. And hours later, a curiosity. I had no idea what a low country boil even was. Parts of the South Carolina coast region are close to, or below sea level. The low country. And boil, well, shell fish, corn, potatoes, and sausage, all together with bonding seasonings. Also, there's a lot of it. I had heard about community events, and attended times and places where I was told what they were, but that night seemed like the truest definition I had been presented with. Except for a few of us, everyone there was from the neighborhood. I arrived with that friend, first, and things were pleasant enough until the couples began arriving. ...

I sent the story off. Not to the contest, but to the readers I remembered who agreed to look at it for me. I wasn't in any particular hurry, but I did find myself in a frenzy over tiny, logistical details. Thrice I looked the story over to smooth its roughest edges, and thrice I ended up adding or changing or adding and changing. The story was already over 5000 words, which isn't a lot for a stand-alone short, but with all my manic meddling, it ballooned to 6000. I knew I had a problem. So, with the first step of acceptance, I pushed it through the electronic womb at friendly bystanders, hoping they wouldn't be mowed down. After the first draft, I knew it was bad. After the second, I thought it was alright. After the third, I was convinced somewhat of both. I will have to submit it by the end of the month, and I refuse to do it without looking it over twice more after I get some degree of feedback. I cannot help but think that I will be sending off a woefully imperfect p...

Chapter 8 is drafted. I have my eye on 10 being a stopping point, to go back and see how this rewrite is taking shape. By the time I get there, I imagine the draft so far will be well over 30,000 words. Somewhat predictably, because the setting isn't contemporary, but speculative, much of it has to be described within the prose. Where chapters of my modern novels hovered around 2500, this time around they're in the ballpark of 3500. Not sure why I find that interesting. The more people I meet and conversations I have, the less I find these sorts of ideas to be commonplace. I had a dream that spurned me to act on the email sent to all previous applicants of a writing contest I continue to fail to place in, or get an honorable mention, on an annual basis. Such behavior compels me to clarify the definitions of sadism and masochism, just for my own edification. One of the ideas I've had going in was to pump the brake more on the quiet wondering and tap on the accelerator in ...