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Do You Ever Think, “How the Hell Can I Make This Story Shorter?”
I am working on a story that is begging me to be a novel. Or a novella. At the very least, a sociopathically long essay.
I am trying to distill it into one idea, one point of view, and send it on its way.
It’s dawdling.
I keep telling it, No you little asshole, you’re a blog entry. In and out. Don’t linger.
It keeps telling me to pay attention, to look more closely at it.
It keeps introducing me to peripheral characters. Like a neighbor whose wife puts on high heel shoes to greet him after work.
It doesn’t want to be edited yet. It won’t stop speaking.
I tell it to Keep it simple, stupid.
I decapitate chunks of unnecessary exposition and deviations from the primary theme.
Out you go, I write over its words, redacting words with sideways ampersands, but it keeps nagging.
I want you to be funny and short, I tell it. I want you to go to the party, let people know you’re there, and make an Irish Exit.
It stops and talks to everybody in the room. It’s too curious. It’s asking everyone detailed questions regarding their…