Alice Buell Lawrence

My story “Capri” is nearing a final form. For now, at least. I’ll keep picking at it forever. No story is ever done.

I’ve been editing “it”Capri” constantly for the past three weeks, with dozens of drafts in that time. I’m going through it now and finding fewer things I want to change. I read it aloud and find that it’s the story it needs to be, with just a change here and there in wording for clarity. It’s almost time.

It’s tough to let it go.

I believe in this piece. I think it’s quite good; I had better since I wrote it and hope to publish it. It flows. It is a bit on the long side for a short story, clocking in a little over 6,000 words, but I’ve trimmed as much of it as I feel like I can and have all of the pieces fit together. It’s at the point where I need to try, you know?

I have a publication picked out with which to try. Their reading window opens next month. I’m hopeful I catch the right editor at the right time with the right space available. There are so many variables to getting published. My goal is to prove myself, hopefully start getting more of my novel work out there. Much more comfortable with a novel. I have the room for a slow burn there.

We should always be ready to kill our darlings. There is always room to improve. Always. I could put this one down for a year, come back, and probably find all sorts of things I want to change. There could be quarto and folio versions. This time, though, I just hope it doesn’t get too battered when trying to publish it. My last two publications were surprisingly smooth, so here’s hoping that trend continues.

I’ve never really had children of my own, but I’ve helped raise children with partners at various ages along the way. Toddlers to teenagers. I don’t know what it feels like to watch a child move out into the world as I haven’t really been much around for that part. One whom I consider a daughter went away to college this year, but I’m on the oppostie of the country from her and couldn’t be there for move-in day. Or to be there for my lovely human, her mother, as she waved goodbye and made the long drive home alone. The pride and concern, the hope and fear, the future looming large. But I imagine it feels like this.

I’ll still welcome “Capri” back home if it doesn’t fly this time. The chances of success are rarely in the author’s favour. I will still believe in this story. I still think it will eventually soar. It just needs the right time and right place, along with the right guidance. Which seems the proper response for a writer.

Or a parent.