I’ve got to keep my hands off Tim Dawson. I’ve been playing with him for about a month and his story’s been cut, changed, but is now growing into long story format at close to 5,000 words. I keep thinking about him and finding new things that probably aren’t needed to be related but I somehow need to get down. If I don’t turn my back on him soon (like NOW!) he’ll grow himself up to a novel. I don’t have the time to give him. I must leave–short of figuring out that little past perfect tense quandry–and either leave him his day in the sun or go back with a black magic marker and carve him to finesse. The third draft, useless as I worked directly on draft #2 with all major changes, became instead a "past tense" only proposition. A cop-out in case I am either unhappy with the past perfect as too formal and obvious, or am struck with guilt in blending the two improperly.
But I must move on. And before I get back to the multi-directional Few, I’m getting ideas on another one I wrote a while ago that needed an ending. I may have it, and the story’s worth saving if I can jump back into the lady’s skin for a few days.
If Tim will let me go.