Sometimes rejects are good enough

In Nights Arms

It's been a long time now, since I have put my mind to writing anything at all.

Found myself browsing through quite a few peoples old stories on ficly one day and decided it was time to pick it up again.

So here i am, again. Hopefully soon I will have something to contribute, in the meantime it's great to see so many familiar people here.

The pile of rejects on the end of my desk grew with a haste I wasn't quite expecting. This was the first I looked down to see that sometime through the day it spilled down to the floor under my feet. Of course picking it all up meant I sat reading them again, as if I forgot that I wrote them just today.

I felt a smirk creep into my expression, it was like reading a child's attempts. Even out loud there wasn't a discernable flow or feeling to any of it. Not that I hated it, there were the beginnings of the spark I needed, just not enough yet.

Instead I decided to watch my actual writing, not something I often worried about. This time it was rather telling, at the start of the day words looked hasty and unfinished, without the small bits of flair I had developed. The last few pages though, quite a different view. It all started to look complete, thought out and clean, an improvement mirrored in the pages as a whole.

Even without a completed and satisfying story it was better, and today that is victory enough.


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