Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Redemption with A Red Pen

If writing is the act of creation, is editing the act of re-creation?

Of the few stories I've written, I've only experienced once writing a story wherein I felt that I didn't have to edit the piece anymore. Most of the time, I thought that a story (even the vignettes) needed some sprucing up or re-working or...

The funny thing is that-- despite the one time I experienced that almost-orgasmic pleasure in writing a story that didn't need editing-- it's the editing part that I derive the most happiness in writing stories. Maybe it's an act of self-correction, expunging all the wrongs I can see in the story. Catharsis in excisio or something like that.

Maybe that's why that show Queer Eye for the Straight Guy is so popular, yes? We derive a certain pleasure in correcting what we see is problematic in the appearance of others-- and therefore, in each other. And all in good fun too, with no recriminations attached.

But I digress.

So when I looked at the past couple of 15-minutes stories about my friends with a more critical eye, I thought that the stories needed a little cleaning up. You know, make them a little more presentable and at the same, shunt away some emotional baggage, yes?

Don't mind me. Am just ruminating like a Carson-writer analogue.


Edited to add: As you can see, I changed the title. I think I already used the queer title before in a post.

Anyway, reason I edited this is because jenn see of i am following my fish made a comment that gave me a start:

think about maybe tossing out a few more of these episodes & editing them with a series in mind? could make for more of a whole

I think she's been reading my mind.

Normally, after I'm done with revisions and editing with a story, I usually put down the pen and let the story rest. However, after a while, I have a tendency to take up the piece again, look at it, then try to figure out if I can somehow combine this story with other stories to make a greater piece.

Sometimes they even move on their own, reaching like greedy children's sticky hands or the darkness under the bed for your ankles.


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