Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Below is a paragraph that needs to bloom. I've been agonizing over it for days now. It's starting to fester. A teen type of angst is moving in on me. I want that one and only opening line to really hook onto the reader pulling them along to the finish. The commas are really torturing me! What kind of an author would I be if I didn't agonize over it, lose sleep over it? After all I'm still up, am I not? Last night I smoothly cruised into 2 am without denting it. Finally, self preservation kicked in and I appropriately dived into bed. Regret entered my bones just as morning crept its way past the covers onward toward the head of the bed. As if opening a curtain, it peeled my eyes wide open. Sunshine and all that. Okay not really. Let's just say a repeat of last night will not be happening again, I assure you. Bloomability does not come without rest. So why am I up again? Have a look. Plan a party around it, but I beg of you, this paragraph needs a bestie today, someone to hold its hand and cry with it until little me figures out how to whip it up and turn it into the delectable definition of fabuloso! But for now, I take five. So here it is, double spaced, ready for your reading pleasure and wonderfully easy on the eyes.
Love and death never take much effort when you've invested in them, but then go right on ahead, toss in a few unlikely variables of proportionate size, and if you're lucky, they surface as loose ends—jittery little things—enough to make anyone go mad. Loose ends always result in a train wreck, with a noose at the end of them and a one way ticket to death—of the soul, of the body, of the mind. Tie them up and you solve the whole problem. As luck would have it, Tristan knew this better than anyone. Of course he was never sure it would kick him directly in the gut, but it did.
What first lines are you agonizing over? Don't be afraid. We don't bite.