Remember in Little Women, when Amy is trying to get even with Jo, and she throws her manuscript into the fire and Jo has a very dramatic melt-down?
When I was younger I could never really understand that. I mean, for pete's sake, it came out of her own head. How hard would it be for Jo to just write it down again?
And now, that I try to write myself, I cringe that I ever thought like that. My ideas are so fleeting that I can't remember from yesterday what I intended to write today. My kids sometimes will say, "Mom, whatever happened to that story you told me about..." and I can't believe I didn't keep going with that story. Or I will look through old journals with ideas jotted down, and think "Hey, I'd like to read that book, why didn't I write it?" Unfortunately, even if I did pick up these threads, they would never be what they would have been if I had kept going.
Even this blog thing frustrates me. I can't duplicate a post that was lost. A comment that is not accepted and gets lost drives me crazy. The muscle memory in my fingertips doesn't even help.
Sometimes, though, what comes out second is okay. A comment comes out better, a post more thoughtful. Maybe even my stories, when I get around to them, will improve at a second go-around. Jo's did.