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There was a chilling realization that the story I thought to post was 'boring as crap'. Then the MRS suggested I move on to the next one ... duh, shoulda come up with that myself. Anyway, here it is - The Child Takes a Nurse.
The Muse has wandered back. Demanded a coffee, then sniped about the roast, the sweetener and size of mug. Hoping to complete edits on #8 in the Phantom collection in the next day.
The difference between gravity and real life is that, while gravity sucks in a predictable manner, life seems to wait for the greatest impact.
Recently picked up editing the remaining Phantom stories. Should be a new one out this weekend.
Took a while to wrestle it to the ground, but Phantom of the Louvre has been posted. All the other tales in the collection flow (some directly, some not so much) from this story. This is longish for a short, but the right length for this story. Be interested to hear what anyone else thinks.
The first iteration - May 2013 - vexed me to no end. Over coffee the Mrs. asked 'what bug was up my nostril' (not exactly, but you get the idea). I told her I was floundering in the search to bridge 'searching the building' and 'finding the interlopers'. Without a pause, she brightly suggested I add an orange cat, cause they fix everything. Worked like a hot damn. Had fun finishing it - and hey, there are airships and orange cats…
What a rush!
Over the last six weeks, [CORRECTION: SWMBO says it's a good thing I wasn't an accountant - "last ten weeks"] I've posted nine shorts - NOT written, just final edits and posting. For at least a couple, iterations dating to 2013 are on the hard drive. Most were in near-final form by 2015.
So, what's the feeling? What's the rush?
The reason I write is to tell the stories that keep bubbling out of my imagination. I don't expect to ever make a dime from them, but I get to TELL them. Frankly, a telling isn't completed until someone hears/reads it. I am grateful that "scifistories.com" exists as a place for the reading part to happen - thanks Lazeez.
After sitting on them for years, these stories are seeing the light of day. And that is a rush, at least for me. There is still a couple dozen to finalize and move forward. After that, who knows. But for now, I'll just sit back and enjoy both the feeling and the rush.
Crowbar's 1970 release hit the big times in '71, the year they finally threw me out of high school. And the song is still right on. Funny that the grandkids don't connect the skinny radical with wire-rims and wild hair to the pudgy old gramps who patiently takes them to test (fifth time lucky for one of them) for their learner's. If they only knew …
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