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.
Structure. Theme. Stakes. Volume. Girth. Texture. Nuance. Weight. Distance. Soul?
179 words on day 525