I was sitting with something that took weeks to do. Looking at it, I was asking what it could give me, what it could offer to the latest attempts toward refinement. Could more be done? Would I be able to pull together something that was already in the best form I could create?

It was a paper that took weeks to write and it needed more work, more revision, more reworking. It was a good thing but it created a small fright full of wonderings. I wrote the paper and I had to, now, develop that other relationship with the words in order to let them go when they didn’t earn a place in the latest iteration.

The days after the decision letter have felt like a little test. Can I write something else, essentially changing what I thought was good into a new, even if revised, paper? I am used to holding things and words and lives, but leaving and deleting and cutting have become a recent skill.

I did this last year and I remember all the reactions I’m seeing again. Looking at tracked changes, little narratives between me and that editor, back then have served my current frightfulness. It can be done. I’ve done this before. I’m thrilled about it and not only frightened. Both are true.

As for the reactions, I’m watching them pass by. Revision really seems to require a different lens. I want to use different glasses. I have to. And this time will serve the next time where words and the small lives they have will either earn a place in that upcoming future or leave.