I’m at the point on these critical-silly pieces of self-depreca... er, description where I’m editing my edits for the tenth time. I really need to move on. Editing one’s own work is not supposed to go this far. Alas, life of the isolationist. Tomorrow might be the day I get these monkey sites off my back. Well, at least online. A huge milestone, no matter.
So I thought about it, and decided to make a few of those revisions you suggested. I think the small things you suggested (about preciousness and obviousness) were warranted, and that it flows easier.
I was hesitant to change anything else, but you made a fair point with "showing" rather than "telling". Would you care to read the revised section?
The smell of roast coffee wafts through the air.
Machines scream as they steam milk, turning it to foam.
Behind the bar, baristas dance, talking and moving in perfect synchronicity.
Crash! A broken glass!
Suddenly this symphony is out of tune, and the players cannot keep up.
Customers keep lining, while partners keep cleaning.
Then, order resumes. Baristas dance again, and customer's coffee arrives.
Balance is restored, and the sound of grinders and steamers rise in the air again.
@Jacobevans I'm wholly indifferent as to whether anyone assumes to think I'm qualified or skilled enough to be a writer. They are concepts that simply don't exist.
You write, therefore you are. Write for yourself, for your inspiration. Write for your compulsion, your inner Muse. Write to soothe the obsession, because you need to. Write for therapy and write for joy.
Don't write for other people, people who may judge or belittle.
Here's my 10 seconds of courage. I wrote this a while ago, and I'm entering it into a nonfiction memoir contest. It's pretty personal. What do you guys think?
My name is Jacob. I’m an amateur writer, a would-be novelist, an illustrious essayist, and a piss poor poet.