I was checking my flash drive for damage and re-discovered several folders full of bits and pieces, first chapters and story ideas, character sketches and arguments between people I don’t even know—and maybe never will.
By word count alone, there’s at least two novel’s worth of stuff on this one little stick. Why do I keep it all, when I know the odds are good I’ll never get back to them? Inspiration? Hope?
Hoarding Complex?
Yeah. That’s the one. My beloved stash of creative possibilities . . .
You knitters know what I mean.
One of these Seeds of Potential Brillance™ is the outline and first section of a story called Goosegirls, which I’ve never quite abandoned, though I’ve been neglectful about visiting. On this re-read, it occurred to me that it might make a better play than a novella—it also occurred to me that I’m possibly too cynical to write fairy tales.
But I can’t seem to let go . . . it’s a restful, no pressure thing—a Story with Benefits, so to speak. Maybe it will become more, someday, though it might not want me once I’m free . . .
Regardless, until Pigeon* is done, this bit is going to remain Schrödinger’s story. But at least it’s providing me with blog fodder while I sort out my ex-cons after their near drowning two days ago.
If you want to have a laugh—intended or otherwise—the first bit of Goosegirls is here, and also posted under Scribbles at the top of the blog. You’re under no obligation.
See you Monday with actual content (she hopes).
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*No, I have no idea why most of my titles are bird-related. Let’s blame Anne Lamott.
Earful of Cider 