ksmith | The writer as bastard

When you read something that someone has posted, which contains blood and sweat and a slice of their soul...and that Graham Greene sliver-of-ice-in-the-heart part of you creeps out from under its little rock and says, "I can use that."

Which is only slightly worse than "Hey--I got it right."

And it does bother me.

And yet I'll do it anyway. Give myself a break by calling it 'getting it right' and 'the truth', and whatever else it takes.

But it's the knowing. And the knowing that *now* I know, or maybe just had the feeling, and had it confirmed.

It's vampirism. But usually the victim doesn't realize it, even if it's a case of self-victimization. And we usually try to give back.

Thus flows today's post. Tonight, after I finish the chapter in progress--and I'm going to finish the bastard if it kills me--I will link all the remaining draft together into One Whackin' Huge Chapter and start revising/cutting/filling in.

A tick less than two weeks. Two more weekends...