I read a book doctor’s critique of another man’s writing yesterday. That critique threw laser-guided punches. I discovered I’m standing close enough to the mat to soak up some of the spit and blood and sweat.
While I’m certain I write better than the gentleman accomplished enough to be done writing a novel I’m not so sure how much better. I suck at commas; I’ve been promising myself I’d look up that whole dependant clause thing—again—and remember it this time. I over use semi-colons because I like them and think they’re cool—same with em dashes. I’m ok calling fragments stylistic when I’m sure there’s a plausible way to use a comma instead.
I’ve never held a character for an entire novel. Most times I’ve not carried them more than a page. None of them have ever experienced anything like growth or change. I doubt any of my characters in recent years displayed more than one emotion.
Tension. Huh?
Structure. Theme. Stakes. Volume. Girth. Texture. Nuance. Weight. Distance. Soul?
Yeah, well…
179 words on day 525