@franky1: Absolutely – that landed hard in the best possible way.

It’s funny, I used to think writing meant protecting a story like it was this fragile thing – like, don’t touch it, don’t poke holes in it, don’t even look at it until it’s “done.” But what you’re saying flips that completely. It’s not about shielding it – it’s about letting it breathe in front of people who actually know how stories move. And yeah, maybe the first draft limps a bit, but so what? Limping can still get you somewhere if you pay attention to the terrain.

The bit about asking what’s been overdone instead of “do you like it?” – oof, that’s a sharper question than I’ve ever asked in a workshop. I’m stealing that. There’s so much more to learn from that angle – like, not just “is it good” but “what makes it stand out in a world where everyone’s already read twelve versions of this?” I guess that’s what separates resonance from redundancy.

Also: turning the story into a script to find weak spots? That’s honestly genius. I’ve never written a screenplay, but the discipline it forces – just the bare bones of action, voice, and motion – could strip away a lot of the fluff I’ve been clinging to. Maybe even stuff I thought was poetic, but is really just fog.

And the thing about adjectives? Guilty as charged. I swear, I must’ve used “tired” twelve times in one chapter. Not even in different ways. Just… tired. The character was tired. The light was tired. I was tired. I needed a damn thesaurus and a wake-up call. So thanks for this little reality-check-without-the-condescension. It hit right.

Honestly, all of this makes me want to go back to that one scene I thought was finished and read it like I’m prepping it for an audience of ten strangers with no reason to lie to me. If it stumbles, I’d rather know now than after it’s in print.

So yeah – not fearing the feedback. Not treating the story like porcelain. More like clay. Let it get messy. Let it get better. Thanks for handing me that lens. It’s staying on my desk.