On Friday afternoon, our writing prompt in class was "Describe the life history of a thing." I decided to write about a car2go and came up with a cutesy, somewhat funny tale of a little car in Austin, who misunderstands swear words (e.g., 'duck', 'shell', 'cod', 'slick'... you get the picture) and therefore thinks that Austinites have a thing for aquatic life.
On Saturday, I did a massive amount of editing and more or less rewrote the whole thing. I threw in a few IndyCar references because I'm from Indianapolis and that's what I think of when I think of fast driving. And then I gave it a sad ending (think Hamlet) with a dash of dark humour.
|I'm sure dozens of cartoonists will|
draw a checkered flag welcoming
Mr. Wheldon at the Pearly Gates.
So I thought I'd avoid the rush.
You'll dominate Heaven's go-cart
circuit, Dan. Source.
And then I still had to do edits on my story. It's too late to rewrite; it's due today. I'm sticking with the storyline, dark humour, IndyCar references, and all, but I feel like an insensitive jerk. It happens from time to time, that writers write things that are within the realm of possibility, and then those things happen. (How much did it suck to be the writer on The West Wing who wrote the episode with Leo's (John Spencer) heart attack, when 18 months later John Spencer died of a heart attack?) It still feels wrong, though, and I'm torn between hoping that I someday can write without having this feeling, and hoping that I retain enough sensitivity to always have this feeling. Either way, I need to be able to work through it.
And that's why I'm still doing edits on the same story.
Anyone ever have a similar experience? Want to share thoughts race yesterday? Just looking for a good place to be sad?