Well, I didn’t quite make my goal of 300, words. I pared it from 450 to 350 and I think if I deleted any more it would be a different story. Maybe it already is. What do you think? Is it better or worse for the editing? The original is back on the 1/31/07 post. If nothing else, it was a good exercise. Truly amazing what uselessness you find when you’re word counting. Here’s the revised version…

Change of Heart

The air outside smelled of daffodils and dandelions pushing up through the dirt, so strong with spring you could get drunk from one deep breath. I came outside to shake the scent of dust and bat shit out of my hair. I took deep breath and started laughing—I was crying, cheeks cramped, before I could get control of myself again.
Jaime pulled up in his driveway. Behind the stack of Thai take-out he still wore a scowl from the fight we’d been having. He walked around the hedge that separated his driveway from where I stood: back porch of the dead neighbor with no living relatives. One offer to mow the lawn, turned friendship, turned certified letter bequeathing the entire contents of his house to Jaime. It had taken us three days to sift through the rambler and conclude that the Salvation Army was going to score. All we had left was the attic, but of all the crammed-full-of-crap corners it was by far the worst: tax returns from the sixties and twenty boxes of Christmas decorations—not the porcelain nativity type, but the tinsel variety. I was beginning to reconsider my resolution to give Jaime and me one more chance.
What a difference a bag of cash can make.
I didn’t feel great about the fact that it took finding the old man’s stash of money to make me realize I should admire Jaime’s effort in memory of a man he’d barely known. He was going to come out of it on top by about 30-grand—proof enough for me that the universe approved of his efforts.
From the back porch I heard Jaime call my name then clomp up the pull-down ladder. The duffel bag was back where I’d found it, on top of the last stack of boxes, so he could experience the rush of finding it himself.
I waited a few minutes and made my way back to the attic. Jaime was in the corner. The duffel bag was lying, deflated on top of the “toss’ mound.
“Looks like we’re just about finished,” he said.

Happy Birthday to Greta! I can't believe my baby is one today. Last year has to be the fastest moving year on record. We had Jeremy's parents in town last week and it was a wonderful visit. Jeremy and David put a playset/fort up in the backyard and we had a small cook out with a few friend to celebrate Greta's birthday. Today Alex and I are going to take her to the play area at the mall and maybe let her pick out a toy from the store. Not that she needs anymore. We have toys and baby clothes coming out our ears. Anyone need a baby girl wardrobe?

As far as the writing bug goes, I think I've finally been infected again. I dusted off my notebook which has been oft neglected this last year and I've recommitted to crack it open once a day. I knew that this first year of Greta's life would take me away from writing - it did when Alex was born. Honestly, I was pretty content to get consumed by that Mom/Baby bond, but it's time to begin the separation process and let the writer piece of the pie get a bigger share of my time than the sliver it's had lately.

In addition to the notebook I've spent some time researching markets. I have two stories I think are ready and I'm going to send one out to all six and as I hear back I'll send the other out. I also found a market for my short short that I posted a while ago. I need to make it shorter (by quite a bit - at leas 100 words) and clear up a few muddy spots that were brought up in workshop. I'll post it tomorrow when I've finished.