Since I was having such a hard time with the last chapter of AIWD, I was longing for something new and different to write, to get me out of the funk. Something easy, or something that came to me easier, instead of struggling over every word and trying to make them string together and make perfect sense. And then….

Same Time Next Week… the bane of my existence… my unfinished 2009 NaNoWriMo… the story that was not going to be finished… started talking to me. It started telling me where I could back the story up to and where I could lop off the diseased portion and where I could take the story from the new jumping off point. I’ve been rearranging the last two days and tonight actually added new words. And got to a point tonight that makes me excited to jump in tomorrow. DRAMZ, ya’ll!

Ugh. So excited. And so happy that ideas are flowing, and that I’m not struggling. I just needed to focus on something different, and this story is much looser with language and sexuality so I can uh… let some things flow. LOL. I guess I just need the release and every once in while I need to pull myself out of AIWD and do something else. Since I can’t quite get started on that Criminal Minds fanfic. HA!

But seriously, it’s still rolling around in my brain. *smacks self* Stop it!

My only issue is how to post the new version at the archive because I already have great feedback on what’s there and some of that gets replaced. I’m hoping it will be alright to close the old version and re-upload the same story but a Redux version. So many things are moved around and added that it’d be hard to go in and edit the old chapters. And then the feedback wouldn’t make any sense.

But I think I want to finish it, before I even start to thinking about that…..but it’s nice to think about.

I wish I could capture some of this momentum to fix and finish Same Time Next Week. *looks at it* *looks away* *sighs*

Baby steps.

Coming up on AIWD are a few chapters I’ve been thinking about for a long time but I really have no plans as far as how to execute them. I don’t want to put a lot of time and space between updates though. Hopefully tomorrow night I can sit down with my outline and put some ideas together.

Taking the rest of the night off!

On Sunday, May 16, 2010 post your favorite flirty scene, either from one of your WIPs, or a brand new one you’ve written just for this blogfest. It can range anywhere from sweet to hot, and any genre is fair game…you don’t have to be a romance writer to participate!

I wrote something specifically for this Fest, but I kind of hate it. It’s so bland. Boo. Then I remembered a scene I really liked from my 2009 NaNoWriMo. It is edited from its original form but the gist is the same. Some steamy flirting going on, so this excerpt is Rated R.

Excerpted from Same Time Next Week:

Somewhere between the second shot and him letting her win at darts, Shelby decided that whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. It seemed like it was going that way-if he wasn’t to ask her to go home with him, he wouldn’t have asked if she was hungry. That sneak was trying to drag out the date!  She didn’t blame him. She wasn’t ready to go home yet, either.

‘Besides, I could use some of that, right now.’

The Dessert Lady was a cute little store front with striped awnings over the windows and tables for two set up around the small space. At the front of the store, a glass case was lined with rows and rows of cakes and pies from cherry to strawberry pie, from pound cake to chocolate cake to coffeecake. Shelby’s eyes lit up at the selection. Jackson was momentarily forgotten-she was lusting after the chocolate torte, sitting in the middle of the case.

“Have you had any of these, before?”

“Honey, I have had all of these before. They are all excellent. You’re a big fan of chocolate, right?  The torte is excellent…”

“I was looking at that…”

“Or the Six Layer Cake is really good, too… or the Oreo Cheesecake. I’m partial to the Peanut Butter Pie, myself.”

After a few minutes of slowly crawling the dessert case and drooling over each selection, Shelby made her decision, nodding at the decadent layers of chocolate in the middle of the case. “That torte is calling my name.”

Jackson ordered for the both of them, and then, despite being alone in the store, pulled her toward a table near the window, behind an oversized fringe curtain. The table was small, so small their knees bumped under it.

“So, you’ve been in Orlando all of four days. What do you think of it?”

Shelby gulped at the glass of water set in front of her. Three beers and two shots made for a very tipsy girl. She wanted all of her wits about her, later on. “I like it. It’s nice. I mean, a little frustrating at four am, but at least it’s quiet. I feel like I don’t get a moment’s peace in Miami. The city never sleeps. That gets tiring after awhile. So, yeah, it’s nice. I’m in Winter Park, actually. Real small town-ish.”

Jackson perked, sitting up straight, head tilted a little. “Wait. You live in Winter Park?” Shelby nodded, smiling. She had no idea where he lived exactly, just that he was rumored to have a home there. Winter Park wasn’t that big… he had to be close.  ”What part?”

“Off of Park, near Rollins College, I think it is?”

“Yeah, I’m not too far from there at all. Lake Virginia. How weird that we live so close to each other.”

“Well, if you think about it, not really. We met at the neighborhood grocery store. It’s not like I drove from Melbourne to shop at the Winter Park Publix.”

Jackson smirked, narrowing his eyes, mouthing a playful ‘smartass’ across the table. He was delightful. So funny and laid back. And cute. And so sexy. Every time he smiled at her, her stomach lurched and she felt warm inside.

‘Ask me already! I don’t want to go home tonight. How many more signals do I need to send??!’

“Here we are,” said the server, a short woman dressed in white, complete with baker’s hat. “Peanut butter pie and chocolate torte. Enjoy.” She slid two plates and two forks onto the table and left a stack of napkins.

“That looks so good,” she said, eyeing his plate, stacked high with a peanut butter-chocolate concoction.

“It is. Haven’t had it in a long time, actually.”  He sliced off a chunk and slid it into his mouth, his eyes closing as he chewed, a few light moans coming from his throat.

Shelby laughed at his dramatics. “Is it really, really good, Jackson? You look like you’re about to–”

He laughed, almost shooting peanut butter and chocolate out of his mouth. “Not yet,” he said, wiggling a brow at her while shoving another forkful in his mouth. “It is good though. Want to try some?”

“I’d love a taste.”  Jackson picked up his fork again, but she stopped him with a touch of her hand, shaking her head slowly, a hint of a smile on her lips, praying he would catch her hint. ”Not from there.”

He caught it, loud and clear, but seemed like he wasn’t sure what to do. He blinked, swallowed, and then, springing into action, reached under the table to grab a rung of her chair and slide her around so she was sitting next to him.  Wasting no time at all, he laid an arm over the back of her chair and leaned in, tilting his head toward her. She met him halfway, mouth open, eyes closed, heart racing.

Warm. And sweet, and soft and gentle, and oh my God. He was kissing her. And he was awesome at it.

His tongue rasped across hers, over and under and around, swirling, spreading the taste of peanut butter and chocolate with it. His lips were soft, brushing against hers over and over, light as air. Shelby fought herself every second, trying not to push the table back and climb onto his lap, sort of grateful he hadn’t touched more than her lips. She was already on the edge, and just about over the point of no return.

He pulled back, his eyes dark and hooded, but his expression gentle. “How was it?” he mumbled, his face still so close to hers.

“Delicious,” she answered, grinning, licking residual peanut butter taste off of her lips. Trying not to pant.

“Thank you. I enjoyed that myself.”

“Good. It’s uhm… rich. The Peanut Butter Pie.”

“Yeah, it is. That’s why I like it. Lots of flavor.” He stared at her, blinking every few seconds. She stared back, bold. Refusing to look away and pretend she was shy, despite how… intense his stare was.

“So, uhm, not asking about the past, but I know you don’t sleep well. Are you… are you tired, or…”

“Not at all.”

He cleared his throat, and swallowed again. “Well, I was thinking maybe we could go someplace a little more private. Do some real talking.”

“Really. Where would this place be?”

His tongue flicked out of his mouth, wetting his bottom lip. He reached for his water glass and sucked down half of it. Shelby’s eyes never left his face. He laughed, finally, looking at her again.  “Why are you making this so hard on me?”

She giggled, caught in the act. “Because you already know the answer.”

“I do?”

“You wanted me to suggest I go home with you? How many times am I gonna hear Jackson Pierce ask me to go home with him?”

The smile faded, slowly. His eyes dropped to her lips, and he kissed her again, this time more forceful and passionate, deep breaths through his nose, his lips pressing hard against hers, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth, fighting with hers. He grabbed the back of her head and held her against him, against his mouth while he kissed her. It was so damn hot… the hottest kiss she’d ever had. Ever.

He pulled back, ending the kiss in a smack, and before his eyes even opened, said, “Come home with me. Please.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice no higher than a whisper. “We should maybe get our dessert to go. I’ll want to eat this torte, later.”

“And I’ll want to taste it.” He leaned in to her, his lips almost touching her ear. “Maybe I could lick it off of some places, too.”

Shelby stood so fast, she nearly knocked the chair over. She shook, she was so excited, and had to calm herself down before they left the store, to- go boxes in hand. Jackson seemed to be in a hurry, pulling her down Church Street, then crossing the street and walking toward a dark blue Mercedes. The lights flashed and the door lock clicked with a mechanical sound.

“Well, shouldn’t I just follow you in my car?”

“Nah, just hop in. I’ll bring you back to your car.” He all but pushed her into the passenger seat and shut the door as soon as she was inside, then walked around the front of the car and got in on the driver’s side.

“Okay, Jackson?” Shelby laid a hand on his arm. She understood his pain… really, she did. But this rush job wasn’t very sexy and was ruining the mood. “Relax. It’s gonna happen. I’m not a tease. You don’t have to rush. Take your time.”

He exhaled, blowing out a long, slow breath. He laid a hand over hers and squeezed. “Sorry. I’m not rushing. I’m just…. I like you. I’m ready. And I want to do this. Like, yesterday.”

“I know. I want that, too. Just slow down, a little. Be gentle. For now.”  She teased him, scraping a fingernail lightly down his arm. He groaned and squirmed in the seat, shoving the key into the ignition and turning it roughly.

“Lady…”  Jackson heaved a sigh, looked toward the heavens as if he was mentally thankking every higher power that existed, whether he believed in them or not. “You’ve been killing me, all night long. I cannot wait to get you home.” He grabbed her hand and shoved it between his legs, wrapping her fingers around the mass curled up in the front of his jeans. “Don’t you dare move that. Don’t even think about it.”

Et voila.

Since I’m not used to warning or rating things but people will be reading it, we’ll call this an R and warn for adult language and light sexual content in conversation, not action.

They looked more like they were in trouble than if they’d been recruited.  Side by side they stood, aprons tied tightly, hands washed and dried, sullen expressions on their faces. Like thirteen year olds, except they were grown men.

“Don’t even,” I said, pacing in front of them, not falling for the ‘poor me’ pout.  “You two are so damn spoiled, and maybe it’s my fault, because I’ve been cooking since I moved in. But last night, when Ty actually placed an order, I decided you guys needed to help, so perk up those faces.” I leveled a stern glare at each of them. “Because you’re not getting out of this.”

They both sighed, shoulders sagging.  JC was the first to break the somber mood, clapping his hands together and plastering a fake but happy grin on his face. Tyler followed suit.

“Better,” I said, with a smile and a nod. I pointed toward the longest counter in the kitchen, where three balls of dough were evenly spaced and dusted with flour.  “So come over here to this counter. I’ll stand in the middle. You guys stand on either side and watch me. Do what I do. Get me?”

“Gotcha,” Tyler said, choosing the ball of dough to my left.

“Stop sucking up to the teacher,” JC whined at him over my head.

“Dude, if anyone has an advantage, it’s you,” Tyler shot back. Then to me, he said, “I expect a lot of extra help. Your boyfriend gets no special privileges.”

“Both of you shut up or I’ll make you do this more often. Okay. We’re gonna roll out the dough, so make sure your ball is all covered in flour.”

JC chuckled. “ Heheheheh, you said—“

“JC, I swear to God—“

“Okay, okay.  We’re covering our balls with flour.” He laughed again, this time to himself, digging into the flour gathered around his dough and covering it with a thick layer.

“How’m I doing? This good?” Tyler was more delicate, rolling his around, creating an even coating.

“Looks great, sweetie. Okay, we’re ready for our rolling pins, now.” I pointed at the rolling pins lined up against the wall in front of each of us. “Grab your pin and you’re going to coat this with flour, too.” I demonstrated, sprinkling a handful of flour over the smooth, oblong object and covering the length of it.  I watched them follow my lead, smirking to myself.  ‘Of course they’re pretty good at that. Rub a long, phallic shaped object? Not a problem.’

“Okay, let’s roll! Get it? Let’s roll?” My head bobbed between them, back and forth. Neither were laughing at my joke.

JC grimaced. “Honey, fair is fair, okay?  I can’t make ball jokes, you can’t make corny… rolling… ones. Alright? Geez.”

I sighed, returning to my project. “Whatever. Pat your dough down so it’s kind of flat, and then use the pin to start rolling toward the edge one way and then another. And when it starts sticking, you need more flour.”

It seemed to me that taking the Bar Exam required less concentration than Tyler was using on his ball of dough. His brows were so closely knit together that they looked like one long furry blonde line across a wrinkled forehead. His mouth twisted and his tongue caught between his lips, he slowly and methodically pushed his dough out, back and forth, around and around, until it resembled the end result- a pizza. The base of one, anyway.

Ever the artist, JC was taking his time. Almost smiling with contentment, he rolled his dough, lower and lower, further and further out, flatter and flatter until it was nearly paper-thin.

“Uhm… honey. I’m not picking on you, but…” I hesitated, then pushed on as he kept rolling his dough thinner and thinner. “Sweetie, your pizza won’t be able to hold your sauce and toppings if you make it too thin. It’ll cook fast but your toppings won’t cook—the cheese won’t even have melted before it burns.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he said. He nodded at me and then cocked a floury, doughy hand on his hip. “What’s next?”

“Flavor,” I answered, reach for a bowl and three cooking brushes. “The secret to my pizza crust is flavor.  I brush it with a mixture of olive oil and seasoning and then a little parmesan cheese. “

I demonstrated and watched them follow my motions, dipping the brush into the oil, brushing the edges of the dough, then sprinkling a generous amount of seasoning and powered parmesan cheese on top.

“Is this gonna puff up?” Tyler asked. I nodded, backing toward the refrigerator for our next ingredient. “Yep. JC’s might not because he insists on having a wafer with pizza toppings–”

“Don’t pick on my pizza. You can’t have any when it’s done.”

“Uhm, think again, mister.” I opened the refrigerator and gathered the contents that I’d prepared — sauce, vegetables, cheese—and set them between us.  “Now we come to the fun part—“

“More fun than playing in dough? Can’t wait.”

“It’s time to dress your pizza. You have sauce—a white alfredo kind of sauce and a red sauce—and some vegetables and some meat. It’s not California Pizza Kitchen, but then again, nothing is. That shit is not pizza.”

“Hey, hey,” Tyler protested. “CPK is good. It’s Allison’s favorite.”

“Of course it is,” I soothed. “She’s never had New York pizza. She’s very cute, though.”

Tyler pouted but went back to work.  I worked on my own pizza, spreading a thin layer of sauce and sprinkling a generous amount of cheese around the dough. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched them both make their own creations.

“So, who taught you how to cook, Serena?” JC was spreading his sauce evenly, swirling it around with the back of the spoon, creating scallop shapes along the edge. His flair always amazed me. He had to go the extra mile with everything.

“Well, I used to take cooking classes. That’s how I learned how to make that sweet and sour soup you like.” He smiled, his face lighting up with the memory. “Before that, I used to hang out in the kitchen with my mom and grandma. Though, they’re Russian by heritage so we made a lot of things with fattening sauces. Stroganoff and stuff like that.”

“Ooh. What do you call a cow playing with itself?” I shook my head at Tyler. “Beef Stroganoff. Get it? Strokinoff?”

JC reached around me and smacked Tyler across the back of the neck. “You just felt left out, didn’t you?”

“I guess,” he said, shrugging. “Is Stroganoff that stuff with like noodles and ground beef? With sour cream?” I nodded. “Can you make some? I mean…” He blushed, glancing down at his pizza, remembering that his demands for food got him into his current situation. “I guess I’ll help if you want…”

I laughed, randomly spreading ingredients around my pizza. “It’s fine, Ty. I really just thought you guys would have fun doing this. It’s good family bonding time.”

“That, and ‘cause Tyler was demanding homemade pizza.”

“And someone was behind him, agreeing.” I eyed our three pies. Three balls of dough that had started at the same size and the same shape were now vastly different. Tyler’s was a traditional white pizza with alfredo sauce, diced chicken breast, mushrooms and cheese.  JC’s thin crust, light sauce pizza had just about everything on it. He really, really liked pizza. Mine was the plainest. Sauce, cheese, sausage, and a few vegetables, but at least I arranged them in a smiley face.  “I think we’re ready to bake.”

The oven, which had been preheating during our preparation, was already a steaming 425 degrees. One by one, our pans slid onto the racks. I closed the door and set the timer and, for entertainment, flipped the switch and turned on the light.

“It’ll take a few minutes before the dough will start rising, but you can watch it bake if you like.”  Like moths to a flame, both men were drawn to the light pouring out of the front of the oven. They stood there, arms crossed, waiting. “Except a watched pot never boils,” I said, giggling. “Give it a few minutes, I said.”

I grabbed the garbage can from under the sink and began sweeping flour and discarded dough into it. Without being asked or complaining even, the brothers turned around and began to help. The containers holding the pizza toppings and sauces were lidded and put back into the refrigerator. The rolling pins went into the dishwasher. The counter was wiped down, clean and free of flour.

“Look! It’s rising!” Tyler’s voice was so high he was squealing, staring into the oven. The aroma of garlic and oregano and my homemade sauce, mixing with cheese and sausage and pepperoni was delightful. My stomach growled in anticipation. Watching them stand in front of the oven and keep guard over their pies, my heart filled with a warm, comfortable feeling. I think it’s called Happy.

During the last few minutes of baking, I set the dining room table with places for 3, a green salad, and cold beers in reward for their efforts.  When the buzzer sounded, they stepped back and let me pull the pizzas out of the oven. I set them on the counter to cool, then handed them each a pizza wheel.

“Slice it up, boys,” I ordered with a grin. My hands on my hips, I had a proud mama moment as each of them sliced into their creations and carried them to the table.

“Sweetie, sit down,” JC ordered, pulling my chair out and already serving me a slice of his pizza. “Look at that. Thin crust, just enough sauce, lots of topping, a bit of cheese to hold it together. Taste that. Tell me it’s not genius.” He plopped into his chair with pride.

“Not to be outdone,” said Tyler, proudly loading me up with a giant slice. “My pizza has a perfect crust to soak up the alfredo sauce.  Lots of cheese and hot, fresh chicken will make this the best pizza you ever ate.”

I beamed, serving them each a piece of mine. “So, taste it. Let me know how you did.”  They sat, staring at the triangles on their plates. And then stared at me.  “What? You think it’s poisoned? Try it!”

Gingerly, they picked up a slice and took a tentative bite, chewing slowly. And then nodded, and then smiled across the table at each other.

“We cooked, dude!” JC said, holding up a fist to Tyler. His brother bumped it, taking another huge bite.  “It’s good,” he agreed with a full mouth. “Lemme taste yours.”

I don’t think either of them noticed that I wasn’t eating, but watching them. Talking, eating, sharing ‘secret’ techniques, eating some more, serving each other plates of salad and congratulating each other on jobs well done. You’d think they painted the Sistine, not made a pizza, but neither admitted to being able to remember the last time they cooked. Eventually I joined in, a smug sense of satisfaction behind my smile.

“This was fun,” JC said an hour later, closing the dishwasher drawer. The kitchen was spotless, the table was cleared, and I was being pushed out of the kitchen and toward the den. “What are we making next week?”

Et voila! I actually found out about this Fest kind of late so it’s not my best best work but I wanted to participate. So there we are! My next piece, I think is for the Flirt Fest and I’ve been working on that one for about a week.

I need to back the story up.  I’ve solved my problem too early and I’ve run out of enough conflict to keep the story running. So, I need to add more ‘story’…. I always get into trouble when I get lazy and try to skip story… and bring both conflicts in the story to a more reasonable conclusion. And I need to bring my main characters back to a certain point, which will be significant to the story.

Amazing. Uhm. I have no idea when I am going to dig into it and fix it. But. Yes.

Interesting dynamic is coming to play, here. And now that the road trip is over and they’re heading home, I’m really hoping that the chapters will come easier. And also that the conversations won’t be so heavy and we can get back to fun.

I’ve been thinking a lot about why I started writing fanfiction. I was reading stories about a familiar character, a character all we ‘fans’ know, except that I didn’t like what writers did to him– making him sullen and sad and emo, when to me he seems so easy going and laid back. Happy and silly and incredibly talented.

These are things I have to keep at the font of my mind when I am writing, even when the topic is emotional and heavy.

Try To Say No

I forgot to mention this is a rewrite of a piece I did last year called Calm Waves and Smooth Moon, so if it sounds familiar, it is. :)

I have submitted this story to two archives. Because if I didn’t do it tonight I would obsessively edit more until it was worse and I really think, after getting some thoughts from a friend, that it’s at its best. *breathes sigh of relief*

One of the archives, I didn’t realize they hadn’t posted a story since fall of ’09. That doesn’t bode well. The other is just one of those internet archives… don’t think I’ll have any trouble being accepted but we shall see. Other sites require first right of publishing or… whatever it is they call it, so I can’t submit until I have something I haven’t submitted elsewhere.

I also am reading some advice on being published and submitting your work… I guess I need to prep a couple of different stories, in case an editor wants to read more. Guess I’d better get moving! I’m kind of thinking of digging into my archive and adding to the one about the girl that doesn’t like light. I want to get away from romance for a minute.

Feels good to have something done, though. Really good.

I joined My Writer’s Circle, finally. Read a couple of great pieces, offered some opinions and such. Overall, though I find a lot of older US writers who write fantasy, or young writers looking for help with speeches and English assignments, and writers from the U.K. *shoulders sag*  Believe me, I’m kind of annoying myself, with this. I told Green Eyes that when I ask someone to read something, and they don’t have anything to say, it ticks me off. But if they pick it apart, that hurts my feelings. I’m not sure, exactly, what I want. Maybe I should try to define that, first.

In the meantime I have successfully not made any more edits to Try To Say No. I think that’s a good sign.  Maybe I should upload it so  people can read it and offer thoughts?

Heard about a new writing contest. Due April 1. HMMMMM. It seems to me that the winner’s of these contests have a distinct style. The subject matter is fantasty, futuristic, or historical. I don’t feel like I have skillz in those areas.

Well.

We’ll see…

**

Have been up since 6ish. First thing I did was open the laptop and take a fresh look at ‘Try To Say No’. I got some good feedback overnight, over some parts that were niggling at me but I didn’t know WHAT was exactly wrong. Thanks to that person that went beyond a cursory glance and actually read the piece and had something to say besides ‘it’s good, now read mine’. Not sure I will hang out there, much. I know I am much more interested in hearing what people have to say about my piece than sorting through every 17 year old’s 122 lines of poetry. I can’t imagine how many people there want to read other people’s stuff, either. We shall see. I’ll do my best to return the favor when I can.

I think I am coming much, much closer to  final draft. Taking a long, overnight break did a great deal of good, as did that critique. I do need to come to a point, eventually, where I decide I am done and call it good and finished and move on to something new. Not sure I’ve reached that point, yet.

Hopefully more writing today and a trip to Barnes & Noble this afternoon. Looking forward to that. Books!

Now I am back at my own piece and asking myself questions, like why? Why would my main character stick with this person? Do I need to explain that? What does she see in him? Since this is just a snapshot, should I leave people wondering and asking themselves the same question? Does it just seem like she’s whiny and weak, or does she have any kind of resolve in her? Do I want my readers to like her or hate her?

This process is maddening. Every time I think, okay this is the best it can be and maybe I should just save it and email it to the submission site, I read it again, and see more things I could probably change. Grrrr. I need to leave it alone for a bit again.

*

Update: More editing, reading through, perfecting. And I joined Protagonize, a community of writers who sometimes collaborate on works but most importantly read and offer critique. Sometimes I need to hear from people who don’t know me and aren’t obligated to be nice. Though it’s nice to get that pat on the back from my friends, too. I’m sure I’ll open myself up to a few of those.

I’ve posted the current draft at Protagonize here.

*

I’ve been doing some editing this morning on Calm Waves and Smooth Moon which has now been retitled ‘Try to Say No’.

I’m wondering if I need to add more to it… more reactions to what’s going on, more internal thoughts. It’s in 3rd person, pretty much from one perspective, so the reader gets a view into that character’s thought process.  I don’t like to write what I call ‘diary entries’. This happened and then that happened and then happened, the end’. I like to be introspective and bring elements out. At the same time I want the author to draw conclusions and not have to be told how the character feels.

Hmmmmmmmmmmm.

I also went for it with Autocrit. Got the basic package which lets me run a series of reports on things like overused words and phrases, cliches, repeated terms, sentence length variation. It was quite helpful. I’m learning that I am repetitive by nature. While I do it on purpose, overuse loads the story down– it’s just meant to carry a central theme, not be annoying. Autocrit directed me to get rid of as high as 42 occurrences of a word! It did help me think about the point I am trying to get across and try to use other words, more complex or simpler terms.

I think I am going to seek out a few people to read it and get some thoughts. Let it sit for awhile and look at it again. I’m not in any hurry, but sometimes I can overwork a piece and it turns out worse. I want to get it complete and submitted so I can stop messing with it.

It’s break time, here at the ranch! Back to writing later,

I may never be published but I do not suck.

*breathes*