Five Minute Read: Editing Poem

The developmental pass is
behind me. Comments litter the right
side of the computer screen. Taunting me,
daring me to hurry up, finish!
 
To write faster, better. Smoother.
Don’t forget plot. Would your character actually
say that? To him?
No, no. Overdone. Clunky. Uninspired.
 
The third draft is cleaner, and by the fourth
I almost believe in my characters, in their motivations.
Almost.
Monday is bright: self-directed smirks and giggles at my own wit and talent.
Rebounding as I stitch scenes together, shift one here,
eliminate another all-together.
Genuis, really.
I deserve a glass of wine. Maybe two.
 
Tuesday reaffirms my earlier fears—garbage.
Imposter. Fraud.
Craft and elements: elusive, fickle creatures
provoking me, teasing me.
 
A mirage. Maybe it’s good. Great, even.
Perhaps it’s destined for the wastepaper basket.
 
Tears stain my cheeks on Thursday as I nitpick
Delete, rewrite. Change one word, maybe two.
Moving forward in a circle.
 
By Friday, I’m ready to retire.
By Sunday, I’m rolling my eyes at my own dramatics.
It’s fine. Maybe brilliant.
 
My pub date can’t come soon enough. Then again, I’m not ready for it.

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