[I am open to the idea that some things cannot be improved on. I am party to the plea that some things should not be improved on. I just deleted ten minutes' work on an expansion of 1.27, something I want very badly to do. I wrote things, beautiful things, about the weight of the light and the state of the room, but as soon as I touched on her--I faltered.
I wrote the original. I own it, as far as intellectual productions can be owned. I speak for its origins and I alone can attest to my state of mind at its creation. But you must know that I am incapable of expanding upon the point. The story cannot be more than a brief aside in my expanding oeuvre. There is no growth to the story other than to say "so sorry! I've ruined everything by trying to bring this character and this moment back. I have destroyed the mystery and wonder of the original by hacking away at the task with a zeal reserved for killing things.
In any case, I've failed.
Congratulations.]
Birds don't eat worms because they want to. Those twit-based lifeforms eat the lowest of our detritus because it's all they have. They've never done anything different. Am I the bird, or the worm?
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I think you're the double fudge triple chocolate cake with brownie chunk ice cream on top that the bird doesn't know it's missing out on.
ReplyDeleteThanks. I'm not sure the thing was well-thought out? So it wasn't excessively me.
ReplyDeleteRegardless, encouragement can be had.
ReplyDelete