I knew — knew — that at the end of my novella I would fit in so much of the furious plot, but I moronically didn’t think it would be so furiously compacted. Such a flimsily typical problem, maybe I’m just a flimsily typical writer…?
No. I’m editing now, on my second edit actually, and I enjoy it a lot more than I once did despite worrying that it doesn’t do everything I want it to do and leaves too much between the lines or to (mis)interpretation.
At least I have complete control: to prove myself by myself. Or fail. OR SUCCEED. So until I post again, likely in a week or so, I’ll reinforce authority over my own material by providing an alternative example to you, from The Oatmeal: