Another deleted start.
I want to write a story but I don’t want it to be a long one. All the ideas I have right now are novel-length. I don’t have a short in me.
All the same, let me try.
When I got the phone call to say that she was xxxx, my first thought was that she was faking it. She has a long history of appearing to be xxxxxx than she really is. I could go into each one individually, but that would reveal me to be a monster.
My second thought was that she was now in the xxxxx she had wanted to be for a long time. She had told me many times that she was ready to xx. She had always marvelled, disbelieved and then mocked me when I told her that I would live to be at least one hundred and twenty. She had tried to make me feel wrong to feel this way. Thoughts like that are difficult to fight against.
I don’t like what I’m writing for several reasons:
- My language and the way I’m using it is stilted and coarse
- I’m talking about xxxxx in a way that is inviting misfortune
- I don’t like my complex use of past simple and past perfect
- There isn’t an emotional centre to what I’m writing here
- I’m using too many vague pronouns instead of names.
Sorry. The idea is there but I don’t feel like I have to language to carry it to a proper conclusion right now and so I’m going to stop.
Talk of xxxxx has been redacted. It’s good to be careful; you never know what’s reading your blog.