It seemed rambling and disconnected, and it wore me out. What have I done? I panicked. Here I've been taking time away from work to play with this thing, and it's a mess! Once I calmed down, I closed the file and thought, I'll look at it later. Maybe it'll make sense to me later.
I have a file on my computer where all of my old stories go to die. Every once in a while, when I'd remember that I had a first name and a soul and was not just "Mom," I'd start a story. I'd get excited about it for a while. And then it would end up in my digital literary graveyard. I didn't want to admit it, but my toy car looked like it was broken - maybe forever. The overgrown, half finished ramble was probably going to stay overgrown and half finished.
Through a series of writing jobs over the next few months, I learned some things about myself and the way I write. I need structure and a plan. I need to write in order. And I need to be flexible enough to let things grow a little outside the lines.
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