Was up until after two in the morning writing again. Don’t try that at home.
But the good news is that I’m beginning to shake off the writing fog that the last rejection seemed to put me under. I successfully redrafted a story from beginning to end before I crashed for the night. It’s a first.
I have no idea if it’s any better than the original. But there are several thousand words on the page where there was nothing before. Including fairies, trolls, and Tempestarii.
This little adventure had a lot to do with one of my creative writing teachers. She told all her students when we revise to put the original story aside. Create it anew from what you remember. Explore new possibilities. Tell the story over again.
It reminded me of Cornelia Funke, calling herself a “storyteller” instead of a writer. Of oral traditions, of the way I still tell stories to people, letting them grow and change and flow depending on who is there, how much (and often how little) they want to listen. Always the same story, but with different things present. Other things untold.
I save every draft like a hoarding dragon, of course, in case one of them might be the one. But I’m no longer so particular about which one it is. About whether any one of them is “the true, perfect version” at all.
I’m just telling stories. Hoping they sing.