A friend recently castigated my writing with the criticism that I was a sloppy writer. He was speaking the truth and I said, “My father always thought that I was sloppy too.”

“You end up writing too much.”

Dannett was editor for a famed newspaper’s obit section.

“Sometimes more is more.”

“I wish that you had learned less was more by this point. It would make my job a lot easier.” Dannett placed my stories in various literary journals after redacting them. “At least your spelling and grammar has improved.”

“If I had of known that I was going to dedicate this much time to writing, I would have taken Typing 101 in high school and college.” My typing was atrocious thanks to my dyslexic fingers.

So I have a tendency to rewrite stories.

They need the extra work.

Here’s an example from IRISH TWINS

First paragraphs from 2010

Last year my older brother was my # 2 friend. My best friend was my father. The native of Maine was 89. His address was an Alzheimer hospice south of Boston. Once a month I rode the Fung Wah bus from New York to South Station and then took the commuter train to Norwood. It was a ten-minute walk to his rest home.

Throughout the summer his condition deteriorated to the point where my father couldn’t remember where he was or what he was doing there. He was better off without an explanation.

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First paragraphs revised 2012

In the summer of 2010 my father’s mental condition had deteriorated to the point where he endangered the public safety. My old man had driven into the town cemetery to visit my mother’s grave and local police had found his Mercedes parked amidst the gravestones. No one could figure how he had gotten that far without hitting anything.

“I never get in accidents,” he explained from inside the patrol car. There were no charges.

A tow truck pulled his car from the graveyard and the next month we moved him from his assisted-living apartment to an Alzheimer hospice south of Boston.

Once a month I rode the Fung Wah bus from New York to South Station and then took the commuter train to Norwood. It was a ten-minute walk to his rest home. Each visit there was less and less of him there and by Labor Day my father couldn’t remember where he was or what he was doing there. He was better off without an explanation.

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There is a difference.

“Writing and rewriting are a constant search for what it is one is saying.”
John Updike quote

And the author of RUN RABBIT RUN knows of what he speaks.