(Just Like) Starting Over…

Well, that’s what Lennon said.

It’s the first day of September. And Autumn… kinda.

And as arbitrary as it is, the first of September is as good a time as any for a fresh start, I suppose. People the world over do it on the first day of January every year – quit smoking, go on a diet, join a gym – so I don’t see anything wrong with sliding it forward a few months. I thought about it, but do people really have it in them to start over, or is that just what they tell themselves they’re doing, when they hit a speedbump in the road?

I spent most of last week redrafting six old flash pieces, and I think I made a pretty good job of most of them, but it got me thinking – when is a story truly finished? Or is it always a work-in-progress? I will probably look back at these (along with all the others) at some point down the line and see things I should be changing – sticky dialogue, dead descriptions, contrived plots – but when do I stop messing around and move on?

You see, I don’t think we ever do. Not completely. We may write new stories – we may even forget the old ones for a while – but we always go back; when we need to, when we’re looking for something familiar and warm.

And sometimes, they’re even better than we remembered.

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