Monday, February 3, 2014

It's a crime not to revise

Chekov had a very bad earworm. Also, sideburns.
Says the editor in my head, even though I'd much rather leave this one alone. But that's the coward's way out, to say nothing of the lazy writer. (Which I am!) If this one was really going to be anything I think I'd strip it and make it creepier. Less obvious. Maybe.

First draft is here.

The Crime Inside My Head [second draft]

Jump cut into
this creepy, cold-blooded 
crime, this introspective
machinated murder,
anyone’s nightmare,
dear God why is this 
panicked plot
my nightmare


His malevolence -- it's
just an act, right?
He's talking
scripted trash and
shooting blanks
isn't she a child
star reading lines and
bleeding on cue?
She'll be resurrected
after that fall, won't she?
Tell me, somebody,

let the film finish
credits roll
theater empty and
cleaning crew enter;
somebody, wake me up
take my hand
and let’s go home.
Please. Wake me up
and let's go home.

You know that good feeling you get when something's done? Yea, I don't have it either, really far from it -- suddenly this poem has become its own unending nightmare. Maybe because in this second draft I tried to be a little more real about it, try to share more of the awful nightmare feeling, that twilight feeling of asleepnotsleepdreamingornotamIawake? I was reading on Brainpickings what Stephen King wrote about wakeful dreaming -- the useful kind real writers do. 
 I think I did wake myself up from this particular dream, which is a little different.. But not before it wormed its way into my head and obviously I am no Steve King it comes to exploiting one's nightmares. But I'm working on it.

I'm so, so sorry for this noimnot but what other song could provide us the action we demand and the ear worm we deserve? Sing us out, George.

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