A Small Thing

Most times, when I write something, I just do it and move on. I force myself to worry about syntax and error correction later. I do this because I know I have to get what I want out and on the page, get it down so I don’t lose the thread I am trying to hold onto.

Sometimes you have to go back and tweak it, otherwise nothing makes sense…

Tonight, I had a good little paragraph. It was alright. It served its purpose.

I immediately went back and began playing with it. Some things are important. Critical, even. One such thing, for me, is the feelings I have had on looking at death.

This is the result:

Blonde hair of shoulder length and lively color made a queer halo about a face he didn’t know but would now always remember. He felt an odd satisfaction he didn’t recognize her. Some part of Yarvis was always glad he hadn’t known the dead. In his experience, most who were murdered had earned it in some way.

 Tell me, does it play?