August 12, 2011

Olivia the Truant, Part 3

Well, as it turns out, I am not so good at editing things myself. It feels like I have to leave a story, unread, for at least a month (though it ends up being three.. four?) before I can come back, read it with fresh eyes, and begin to edit. Then, once I've edited the hell out of it (because I'm easily my own worst critic), I have to leave it alone AGAIN... and re-edit. Wash, rinse, repeat. This, not even taking into account how long it takes me to even get a story on the page.
So, everything takes ages around here. And, usually, like now, I just end up giving up. Because the truth is? I'm a perfectionist to the nth degree and it's just gotten out of hand.
And it's still imperfect, but I'm coming to terms with that. Maybe if I ever really did come to terms with it, I'd be able to publish stories at a more reasonable rate.
Oh, well, that leads down a whole 'nother rabbit trail of perfectionism if I let it.
So, here it is already, in all it's imperfection. :)



I was in the garden with Judah when Charlie came out, holding the phone.  I watched him from under the brim of my hat as he moved across the lawn toward us.  How does confidence just bleed out of him like that?  And why doesn’t it transfer by osmosis?

He looked, as usual, ready to take on the world.

I was still mad at him, though, and tried to ignore the way his jeans hung on his hips and his skin shone in the sun--

“You being good?” he asked me, eyes sparkling.

I looked down and nodded, pretending I hadn’t been watching him.

We hadn’t spoken for much of the morning.  I guess I was afraid of saying something that would get me into trouble.

He smiled at me.  “Mrs. Berry,” he said, holding the phone out to Judah at arm’s length.  

“Something about her concord grapes and do you want them?”  He raised a hand to shield his eyes, squinting against the bright sun.

Judah looked up from under the brim of his hat.  “Oh, right.  I asked her about that.”  He stood and briskly dusted himself off.

“And something about her apricot tree?”  Charlie shook his head.  “Is she ancient?  I can hardly understand a word she says.”