No More, Please

I discovered the stopping point a while ago.

I used think I could revise to no end, and it would bring nothing but benefits to my writing.

That's not true, though.

I think I may have learned the lies in that through art. When I was younger, or even now, I would draw, or paint, or anything, and then once in a while I would come to the point where something was actually beautiful.

But I would end up indecisive, as I always am, and when choosing I would always choose to add more.

And too late, I would discover that my curiosity in wanting to see what would happen destroyed my work, in some ways. Too late, I saw that the more I added, the more the beauty was slowly drawn out.

At this point I've learned to not only be sparse in my writing, but how to draw a line. And to know where.

Art and writing aren't actually that similar.

But.

When an adult tries to explain to me in very simple terms how the writing world works and why we NEED to keep on revising, I can only say- to myself, really- that I believe I understand this quite well, thank you very much.

And really, though it doesn't sound optimistic, exactly, when I say it- I'm trying to help.

Frozen Moment #4

That good feeling
standing on the mountain of sand, the dunes-
taller than even the waves

and the scorching burn on my toes
tells me i should be in the water
now
not wandering
but i choose mind power
over instinct

for once.

a choice,
for once,
for that matter.

minutes later i look back
deciding my third cousin
is the prettiest teen on the beach

because of who she is.



i can still feel beach fire in my eyes
from nights ago.