Laying Bones




‘Optimist: Someone who figures that taking a step backward after taking a step forward is not a disaster, it’s more like a cha-cha.’ – Anonymous-


Lets call a spade a spade. I’ve quit a story before because I thought that it was going no where. The hardest part of writing is getting the actual story down. There are so many scenes, stories, dialogues and metaphors just swimming around in our heads. If you are like me then you spend your day thinking about these and contemplating how great they would be in a story! You even tell yourself that you have a story and that you wrote it; you just haven’t actually put it down.

That’s the hard part – putting it down. This is the most exhausting part of writing. Editing a scene, sure, it’s a nightmare, and it stresses you out, but the story is down on the page! Most writers I talk to quit before a story is over because they hate what they are writing as they are writing it.

My advice: get over it! Just write the story regardless of whether or not its absolute crap. Once you’ve written it all down then you can dive into it and start polishing some scenes and tweaking some dialogues. That’s the easy and fun part! Turn off your internal editor and just write the story. It doesn’t matter if it feels bad or reads horribly – you can adjust it later, but you will never finish a work unless you write the entire thing first. Don’t be that writer that only writes half a story and then convinces themselves that they can finish it anytime, but never do.


Find a half finished story or a half finished scene and finish it. Give it some closure. Just completing a work will give you a great boost and will push you to do it again and again.




2 thoughts on “Laying Bones

  1. There was a moment when I thought that what I did was appreciated. That the effort that I put towards things, especially my work, was the right thing to do and wouldn’t be perceived as anything else but hard work, but I was wrong. I learned that sometimes doing your best and being the best to your ability isn’t always viewed on a positive note.

    I like to put forth the best attitude and effort towards any given task no matter how trivial and painfully dull it may be. I figured that my efforts would be rewarded for being so positive towards any given task at hand. But again, I was wrong.

    I learned a long time ago that you need to watch what you say and who you say it in front of, because you never know how it will be perceived and retranslated. I use this knowledge to my advantage and drop key words into conversations to lure people into telling me things that they have overheard. I also find that having a positive, bright personality gains you favors, so the two of these combined only can benefit you if you play them well.

    So as I went through my closing ritual at the end of a long day I used these tactics to see what was brewing about the workplace. What I discovered destroyed me. I had learned that all my good efforts were not perceived as such, that they were perceived in the opposite manner. I kiss ass. I heard about a story that was used to explain me and my equal co worker. About how one person tries to purposely outshine the other to make it seem like they are better, not giving the other person a chance to shine. That I was an overachiever and a show off, not a genuinely hard worker.

    When did doing your job and doing it well mean that you were trying to be chauvinistic? Is it so wrong to want to do your job to the best of your ability no matter how boring the task is? Is it so wrong to want to be the best you can be because you wouldn’t accept yourself any less? I find that I should care less since my efforts are unappreciated. What a sad day an age that your efforts are looked upon as something negative.

    • ‘That’ll do it, Chuck.’

      He let go of the hood and it crashed into place, rocking the car. It was a classic with a full metal body and with easy to access parts that made personal maintenance a viable option.

      ‘Thanks Hank.’ I took the keys off the hook while Hank washed grease from his hands with a stained rag. I had bought the car because I wanted to be self-reliant but I haven’t spent a single day trying to learn how the engine works.

      I walked to the side of the car and looked inside. Spotless. Not a single piece of trash or article of clothing. A bulging duffel bag in the trunk contained all of my possessions and they were hastily shoved in before the car rolled into the garage.

      ‘You look tired, Chuck. Didn’t get much sleep last night?’

      ‘Not as much as I would have liked. How much do I owe ya?’

      Hank disappeared behind the counter and pulled out his log book. ‘Well you supplied the parts yourself so the cost of labor mulls down to forty-three. If you got it in cash we’ll call it an even forty.’

      I slid two bills across the counter and he extended his black stained hand. The rag he used was more reflex than functional. I shook his hand and walked back to my car.

      The engine rolled over and the car murmured contently beneath the hood; a steady sound void of the labor that echoed beneath its metal hood when we arrived to Hank’s Gas and Go. I rolled out of the garage and onto the road. My sunglasses were on the dash and I paused only long enough to fit them on my nose before rolling down the road.

      Once the garage was out of view I pulled onto the shoulder and went to the trunk for my duffel bag. After giving it the honor of shotgun we took off again. We passed the diner where I had spent my night writing in a journal while taking advantage of free coffee refills and a couple slices of pie – much cheaper than trying to find a hotel for the evening. The restaurant was full truckers and I assumed they were used to the type.

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