Getting Pissed

I have a story due for workshopping purposes on Friday--and it's been going nowhere. Seriously, I don't know why this tale has been giving me such grief. It's not enough that I've been having trouble writing anything new, but now I can't even revise my older material. Though, maybe, it's just this story, and I need to let it burn. I think, with this one, I might be trying to hang on to everything I love about the story and just need to kill my darlings. But this is where I'm having the conflict, because if I kill all of my darlings, the story will lose all of its interesting bits, its flair, its pizazz. Or whatever.

As good of advice as it seems to be, I can't help but question this idea for making fiction better. Am I not simply taking my gushing gibberish of great moments, then distilling them into functional form of boringness? Hopefully not. But the more I learn about fiction and structure and what a good story needs, etc., the more I worry about whether or not my stories fill every desire. It makes me want to break out of traditional story methods and do my own thing, screw the rest of the literary world (which is probably a good thing), but I know there must be a balance between new and traditional. Balancing has never been my thing.

All I can do is press on, find a new way for my stories to exist and function. But, man, that sounds like so much work...

Shattered Suns and Broken Hearts Pt. 8 of 8

Darkness fell, soundling like singing stars, like bells, like fairie laughter. And they held on to one another, their hands gripped tight tight, walking through the shadows, ready to grow their own light, provide their own warmth, and find the blinding beauty in the other.

Shattered Suns and Broken Hearts Pt. 7 of 8

Then he heard another's voice, another screamer, broken and shrill, another shooter. When she'd stopped, he said, "Mad at the sun?"
"What gave it away?" She eyed him, the mascara smeared down her cheeks. "The gun or the screaming?
"I can see it your eyes."
She smiled, her lips trembling, and he extended his shaking hand. She twined her fingers in his as the faint sound of cracking fell into their ears.

Shattered Suns and Broken Hearts Pt 1 of 8

Once upon a time, there was a man too blinded by the beauty of the sun to notice what lurked in the shadows. He'd spend his days staring at the sun, thinking she was right behind him, waiting for him, basking in the warm light and smelling the fresh cut grass.

Surprise!

Rather annoyed that I didn't see Indiana today, but it's all good. Whooped my family at Scrabble in two games. I hope for a third.

Anyway, don't want to bore you all with the trivialities of family vacations, so I'll just tell you that starting Monday is my BIG SURPRISE.

I've put together a small illustrated story for you that will update beginning Monday and run THROUGH THE FOLLOWING SUNDAY. Yes, you will get not one but two extra blog updates from yours truly. Anyway, the story is called "Shattered Suns and Broken Hearts." I realize this sounds like the titular track of some crappy emo band, but I assure you that the story is rather good. It was fun to write and illustrate. Plus, it gave me a reason to use the tablet a bit more. Anywho, enjoy, and I'll be alive and kicking once the story runs its course.