I've just finished the last draft of a story I've been working on for three months. After proofing it and doing the final tweaks, it should be up as a Kindle single by the end of March. I am always amazed at the surprises that the creative process holds and it is a process. For all the outlines and all the character sketches, a literary work has a life of its own. This is just a mystery, but the 'just' is qualified by the great writers who have turned their hand to this genre, Dashiell Hammett to name my favorite (I write nothing like him except we both do noir) or A. Conan Doyle to name an immortal.
I had no sooner rejected my first draft as inadequate and started on the second draft when the story began to tell itself, the mark of a good tale. It took me through twists and turns with its own curious logic and soon it was its own creature. That's the joy and surprise of creation, being an instrument of the Muse. I never tire of it.
Do good and be well.
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