The problem with your stories one of those kids who know everything told me in a writing workshop, is that they are hard sudokus. You really have to think to figure them out. But here’s the thing, she leaned forward on her elbows. No one actually does hard sudokus.
I do. I only do hard sudokus when I do sudukos, which, admittedly is not very often since with a background in math, sudukos aren’t so much a relaxation as work-lite. But a hard-suduko story writer, I liked that. The next best thing anyone has ever said about me is Meghan views getting wet as a personal insult, which is also true, but less applicable daily (unless it’s raining).
I got my first critique back for my course. I knew there were issues with Come From Away, but not this many. An entire red pen’s worth for the first twenty-five pages.
You broke the contract, Geoff says. The writer promises to reveal just enough and the reader promises to stick it out until all the pieces are in place. She doesn’t believe you’re going to reveal enough to make it worth her while.
But hard sudoku, I whine. You’ve got to stick with it.
The word hostile is thrown around in the critique. I am not puzzling. I am hostile.
I rewrite the first section.
Well, now you’re explaining too much, says Geoff.
I can’t win.