Philosophy of Writing – 14.1 – A Sample

As this short story develops, I’ll post edits. I imagine this will help regular readers see how I approach editing.

Drafting
There ‘s was a tree, in a our woods, tht that lets that will would send you to sleep. We learnt to grow cultivate it – my mother’s family – to cor crossbreed it with oaks so the trunks grow strong and knotted. The original we cut down generations ago. A mimeograph of it hangs in the front hall. ; my grandfather is slumped over  dreaming the boy man whose inside it. His back faces the camera and his shoulders are curled inward slumped. – he dreams. Eventually he made hung a sign from his neck that said “Don’t Move Me”; I think the tree’s  his dreams got too lv lovely. and he would

I never slepr slet slept in our trees. I like d the sort of dreams that make me grateful to be awake in the sunshine. . ; : they’re 

The trees produce black fruit with purple juice that that’s – it’s good for making pies. In If you eat it them raw you spit out seeds like caviar. , and the purple The juice is purple and will stains your teeth. That night you’ll dream of rot and sharp angles, abandoned things, the growth of mold on concet concepts. rotten lives and gaping mouths

Edits

I. – same hour
There was a tree, in our woods, that would send you to sleep. We learnt to cultivate it – my mother’s family – to crossbreed it with oaks so the trunks grow strongs and knotted. The original we cut down generations ago. A mimeograph of it hangs in the front hall; my grandfather is the boy inside. His back faces the camera and his shoulders are slumped – he dreams. Eventually he hung a sign from his neck that said “Don’t Move Me”; his dreams got too lovely.

I never slept in our trees. I like the sort of dreams that make me grateful to be awake in the sunshine.

The trees produce grow black fruit – good for making pies. If you eat it raw you spit out seeds like caviar. The juice is purple and stains your teeth. That night you’ll dream of rot and sharp angles, abandoned things, the growth of mold on concepts.

II. – next day
There was a tree, in our woods, that would send you to sleep if you climbed inside its. We learnt to cultivate it – my mother’s family – to crossbreed it with oaks so the trunks grow strongs and knotted. If they don’t develop hollows naturally, we carve them out o cut them. The original we cut down generations decades ago. A mimeograph of it hangs in the front hall; my grandfather is the boy inside. His back faces the camera and his shoulders are slumped – he dreams. Eventually he hung a sign from his neck that said “Don’t Move Me”; when his dreams got too lovely, and he died in them. Th The tree grew tendrils around him; we couldn’t move him; when he died and the tree started drinking nutrients from him we cut it down.

I never slept in our trees. I like the sort of dreams that haunt my shadows and make me grateful to be awake in the sunshine.

The trees grow black fruit – good for making pies. If you eat it raw you spit out seeds like caviar. The juice is purple and stains your teeth. That night you’ll dream of rot and sharp angles, abandoned things, the growth of mold on concepts.

We’ll sell you a basket of wood for a buck but don’t burn it indoors – use it for carpentry. It makes lovely, dozy tool shets sheds or and doghouses, . where the sun waltzes in through the window glass and settles sleepily on the floor. We don’t like storing it because if there’s ever a spark we’ll die burn to death in our sleep.