I told my wife once that I thought Ed Wood was the scariest movie I’ve ever seen. She told me to shut up. Of course, she’s not a fiction writer, sitting alone, pouring hours and hours of thought time and typing time into a story that you think is awesome only to find out later, after your tale is released into the world, that you are alone not in your environment, but in your tastes. Ed Wood made some of the worst films ever exposed to silver. He thought they were good. That is scary.
The Sixfold story contest is over. My submission came in 223 out of 339. 223! That is getting pretty damn near close to the bottom. For a story I thought could win. It makes me officially delusional. Scary, right?
After 30 years of writing I’m not about to alter my career direction on the results of one foray. Still, that contest comprised nothing but other writers. It feels, a bit, like an unmasking. Like a small mob has cornered me and ripped off my disguise to find out I’m something way different than I’ve pretended. A woman, not a man. Not a human, but a monster. Things aren’t right. This last scene did not flow logically from the one before. It feels like I’m trapped in an Ed wood movie.
It’s scary, but only a little. I can tweak the third act.