Short Form Storytelling
(909K)
Feb 28, 2006
I wonder if there are writers who have managed to develop that filter, the late night voice of reason, confirming that the three sentences rolling up to the surface in the back of one's head will wait for--or even, improve by--morning, and can be left to stew, to age, maybe even to melt away if it isn't worthy. Every word found on the pillow seems like a priceless jewel, no luxury spared, what necessity is restfulness, after all? And so, drifting to sleep finds this story about drifting to sleep--except, instead of with three vixen teases of lines that won't go anywhere, with a more ultimate (and unpronounceable) understanding.
I hope she would have liked it.
(for Octavia Butler: June 22, 1947 to February 24, 2006)
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