I suck

On the way home a new character entered my life. Another one of the colorful inhabitants (although a transient) of Windwept, Ohio. He's here for the storm. It took three decades to come, but Jedediah knows patience, hobbling here and there on his dowsing rod/cane. Old Ben Yoder has shown up for the story, and, unlike most of my stories, I think I know most of it and what happens.

The story started coming to me as I was driving home. Once home I had to go to meetings, but I typed some of it out inbetween meetings, and now I was starting to put more in and tell the tale.

(here starts the traditional writer lament) Man, I suck. This is crap. Oh sure, it looks cool in my head, but once it's words on iron filings, it's crap. So horrible, it makes me want to edit it constantly. I've used this set up before (guys sitting around a table). I'm repeating myself. "Ironwood tree" oh please. Can I be more repetitive? I can't write. I suck. (end lament, maybe)

So, some four-hundred words in and I'm ready to throw in the towel. Except that I think it's a neat story. Sure, general trope of fountain of youth in a lightning rod (can you tell I've read a lot of Ray Bradbury), not much conflict, except Ben Yoder trying to save his friend, when his friend doesn't want to be saved. My guess is that it'll not be more than 4000 words. Which is good. Shorter stories have a better chance of selling (if you believe that advice).

Another old timer introduced himself, Gyre Kelly. Not sure what he's going to be (other than a soy farmer). Jed's gotta find someone with a corn field and the proper crystal sub-soil formations to work his magic, but after a few decades in the town I think he's already lined up where he's going in the storm tonight.

Old men having coffee in the Three Corners Bar (also doubles as coffee house and restaurant with somewhat decent food). Maybe it'll work. If only I could write.

"It's going to be one of those storms."

They all knew what kind of storm he meant. The kind that comes once in a century. Where you hole up for the duration, then come out the next day to gather in the dead.

That sucks. Here's what separates the wanna-bees from those that make it. I'm still going to work on it to try and make it work. I'll edit it, hammer it, reforge it, temper it, and put it in a headlock until I can make it sing.