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.