Like a Hygienist

There's always blood. Anyone who's had their teeth cleaned by a dental hygienist know this. They get right up in there with tools that must have been designed by a psychopath (or at the very least a sadist). They aren't gentle. And there's always blood. But afterward, your teeth sparkle. There's that smooth feeling as you run the tip your tongue over them. It tells you they're cleaner than they've been in months and it actually feels good.

I feel the same about the approach I'm being forced to take to my latest effort. It's a short story. Shorter than most I write. It's also fantasy, which is something I've not written for a while. I'm writing it for reading out and at the pace I read we're talking about 200 words per minute. So what we're left with is a 1650 word second draft that needs to be at most 1200. So like the hygienist of my nightmares, I must take up my implements and really clean the story.

It's refreshing. Normally when things turn out this short I'm worried. This time I've got permission to hack even more. That feels good.