We all know perfectionism is a bitch.
I’ve resolved to getting anything out that I can and returning later to edit. I have a bad habit of editing unfinished drafts, but also of hashing out unecessary tangents when a simple punchline makes it not only faster, but better. Besides, I’d rather have a bunch of really short, really good chapters than really long, really boring chapters. We all have authors who inspire us, but there may be some authors who inspire us to do the opposite of their methods, either because it’s not our flavor of writing, or we just downright don’t like their choices. Dickens is one of those people for me, his shorter work is great, his longer work is very repetitive. I think Frances Hogson Burnett understood what little needed to be provided in a story about very similar themes to his. In A Little Princess her young main character neatly explains how a budda figure doesn’t necessarily indicate idol worship and it’s a great piece on why foreign cultures shouldn’t be stigmatized and it’s understandable and palatable for kids.
Anyway, without further ado, here’s another one of my experimental chapters:
Church was a Betty Boop cartoon. Everything was black and white, the music was a distant, distorted, cheery pageant. After the hymns the old pastor’s wife would erect a cardboard booth, possess little handstitched voodoo looking emulations of kids and show the real kids how to act “Christlike”. It never really felt like a puppet show. Everything was simple. Sunday school was more complicated. You could either color in a Noah’s Ark coloring book, practice motherhood by playing with the baby doll, get your hair braided, or deviate without getting caught.
Getting into real trouble was a luxury. More and more she had been wishing to run off into the woods and not come back, to find the lake in the center of the woods and find a sword on the shore because the lady of the lake had been driven from her home years ago; maybe instead of a sword there would be arrow heads, maybe she could find some string and tie an arrowhead to a straight enough stick… or to simply step outside and look at shapes in the clouds, Even sneaking into the storage unit to play with the Christmas decorations, to piece together a hybrid angel reindeer costume, that would be fun. Thoughts had begun to materialize more often. Rabbit holes had caved in to reveal deeper passages into her brain. She drew winged reindeer wandering in the night with halos leaving comet trails. Even the boys would love the idea of taking the candles out of storage to play with fire, to play the electric organ, to steal the pastor’s car and drive to the general store. Maybe if the kids teamed up they could go to the movie theatre downtown and catch a flick before the cops caught them. Trouble was gold attached to a mine, and mines were hidden everywhere, mines of different sizes that seemed to plant themselves right onto her path of ideas. Something else she had seen in storage was a sewing machine, and Emily claimed she knew how to use one. She convinced Emily to try it out. They both shuffled out of the classroom towards the “Fellowship Hall”.
Sewing Machines aren’t dangerous, and have safe guards against pricking yourself. Paranoid teachers however, with a passable excuse, can get your ass handed to you and a full night of forced bible reading, and a forced promise not to wander off anymore, Written on the chalkboard of course.
Like she or any kid would ever follow that!
It seems so many of us suffer from the same OCD trait of constant (and mostly needless) editing.
I like this story. Easy to follow. Relatable. I feel like the "She" needs a name. But that might just be me.
Good work, thanks for sharing!
Well said! I think the authors who inspire us to do the opposite are just as important as the ones who aspire us to try and emulate. Also, great writing! I'm excited to read more.