I fell down a rabbit hole today reading about what a pervert J.D. Salinger is supposed to have been, and poor Joyce Maynard whom it's said he tried to deflower. I hate finding out that my heroes are just jackasses like everyone else.
Last night, before bed, I brainstormed four possible plots for my Flash Fiction challenge 2 submission. This morning, in the few minutes I had before work, I outlined story arcs for my two favorites ideas. I bounced the two options off coworkers while I spent the day hawking vitamins and tweeting about meat department specials. But I already had a favorite, and I began embellishing it as I retold it.
I asked, "is it dramatic?" And, "is it dumb?"
Tonight, after dinner, I wrote a new outline, based on my revisions. Then filled in a rough draft. As it stands, I am 50 words over the limit, so tomorrow will be about clarity and brevity. And finger-crossing.
In other news, my contact in South America wrote me back and said he would gladly discuss hummingbirds. This is very good news.
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