by Robert Lopresti
for the last two months all the precious writing time I have been able
to pry loose from my days has been dedicated to one piece of fiction. I
have been eagerly looking forward to kicking it out the door and going
back to my regularly scheduled this-and-that writing schedule.
You can see where this is going, I'm sure. I mailed the thing today and I find myself missing it terribly. None of my other stories appeal to me at the moment. I want that one back, for just one more look.
feel like a parent who has dropped dear little Jimmy off at
kindergarten. Except, instead of wondering whether he has a clean
handkerchief and enough pencils I am brooding about adverbs and
I know I forgot to put in a sound effect I thought
of a few days ago. Did I proof-read often enough? Carefully enough?
A quotation mark was definitely missing on a newly-minted line of
dialog. Okay, fine. Leave them something to correct.
matter now. The little bird is off on its own. If it comes limping
back in a few months, a boomerang child, I will give it another reading
and shove it out of the nest again.
Because I have other shells to crack.