Rallying Point, Food for Thought, & (Over-) Editing Validation

It’s with a light heart I report that, for now, Tilly the cat is breathing easier most of the time and still acting healthy in all other respects. She appears so comfortable I’ve left her sleeping alone on the low-set heating pad to spend time around Jezebel. You see, yesterday afternoon that elderly grey kitty acted a fool for attention despite her age, racing around for me to chase. Of course the napping brat acts all casual about my presence now (~grin~) but I’ve no doubt she appreciates it.

Jezebel in Full-on "Monkey Mode"

In other news, exchanging emails with a very talented and oft published writer, I confessed my ongoing obsession with re-re-re-editing older stories. This kind mentor’s reply validated my quirk with uplifting, if disheartening wisdom:

“Never feel guilty about fiddling with old stories. Taking your own work to pieces is one of the best ways to sharpen your skills -- it also gives you fresh perspective on the work of other writers. (One of the pitfalls is that one can become quite critical of books in print, particularly the best sellers, where the actual value of the book can be secondary to the marketing hype, spectacular cover, and writer's reputation, all of which go together to make a best seller out of a work that ... shouldn’t have been. They do say -- and I believe it -- that the best books are lying in desk drawers, unpublished. These days, they're probably languishing on the Amazon servers, having sold 35 copies and then been forgotten for want of an advertising budget!)”

Thanks, my friend.

More on that note, I’d like to share a snippet and would appreciate knowing what you think if you care to comment. This scene from “Man’s Best Friend (BloodMoon #8)” follows a violent home invasion and the protagonist’s efforts to move past it, surprising her reunited lover with the renovations.

Story:

Nickolas ripped off the scarf blindfolding him. He took a step back, jaw dropping, and shook his head.

“Wow. You do like yellow.”

“And I remembered you like blue. Is it too much like a circus tent?”

“Not at all. It’s psychedelic.” Looking to me, he fanned out the fingers of his right hand like a conjurer. “Where on earth did you find this cool carpet?”

“There’s a hotel supplier in town that sells remnants.” I uncrossed my fingers, no longer worrying that blue and yellow paisley pile might be too much. “I figured it would hide dirt and hold up well.”

“I am kind of a slob.”

“You and me both,” I said, snickering. “What do you think of the furniture?”

“What happened with the old stuff?”

“We donated it to charity. It… I…”

“Wanted a fresh start?”

“Yeah.”

I gave him a look I hoped showed my gratitude over his understanding. Neither of us speaking, he looked around the room. I could sense him wanting to touch me and took hold his hand, swinging our arms child-like between us before continuing my narrative.

“Anyway, everything matches now. I figured solid yellow upholstery and curtains toned down the carpet,” I prattled, “as well as the blue sheets.”

“I can hardly wait to see you in them.”

Letting go his hand, I feigned a need to show him which drawers contained his socks and underwear. Nickolas smiled walking to the replaced window. I appreciated him ignoring my discomfort, whether out of civility or male oblivion.

~

Final paragraph revised:

Longing rumbled in silent echoes. I let go his hand, darting forth to show which drawers contained his socks and underwear. Nickolas smiled walking to the replaced window and I appreciated the disregard, whether out of civility or male oblivion.

~

Now I need to stop editing this. Heh… It’s time I go to the gym and lift weights.

What are you up to today?

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