crossing the line

I’ve crossed the line, finally, from wanting my stories to receive acknowledgement to loving them for their own sake. This is not to say that I did not love my stories before, I did, and gnashed my teeth at every rejection in part because I felt the editors had missed the essential beauty of my child. But in writing now, I can feel myself reaching for a musicality and perfection appropriate to the piece, can feel the tug, the necessity of getting the words right not because anyone will read it [ever] but because the story itself requires that precision.

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