Mar. 25th, 2014

desperance: (Default)
So all this time, this story I am writing has been called "Champ de Mars", because it's Irish and there are potatoes and green fields and I could.

But I think now it's nearly over I have to call it "Surface Tension" instead, because there is none: it is a story entirely without conflict, as it stands. And then I have to remake it, to constrain its new title from the inside out, like a bubble of air. Which is a more relevant simile than you can possibly know, before you read the new version. Which you can't, because it's only in my head.

In my head, it's a far better story. Maybe I should just leave it there.

In other news, Barry declined to leave the bag of ginger ale cans beneath the window; he wanted to sit there. I came home to ... mess. One can at least has leaked the most of its contents. The clever thing is, I can feel how empty it's become but I can't find a puncture in it anywhere.

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desperance

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