Self-edits. Oof. I started over my 1,000-word count limit, so my first sweep through my Writer in Motion Unedited First Draft was checking for repetition, removing anything that was filler, and striking the random side quests I always tend to write into my projects. (Why make it easy, when we can make it *complicated*?)
The first thing I took out was the random father/camping mention. Yeah, sure. There’s something interesting there. The main character went camping with their father. Then, the father disappeared under suspicious circumstances. While, sure, there’s some kind of story there, it’s not this story. This story is an internal struggle and an external battle of wills. Bye-bye, father dearest. Again. Sort of. (And, for real, this short story is already cliché enough as it is. Did we really need the ‘recruited into the dead dad’s former criminal agency’ thing going on, too? No, I think not.)
I shuffled, re-arranged, adjusted thoughts, changed up the sides each character took, and made the main character even more sarcastic.
There were sections of telling, rather than showing. Or partial showing that really wanted to go full-strength action without the filler. I played with the atmosphere a bit more—we’re sitting around a campfire in the middle of nowhere contemplating the upcoming violent end to a questionable career, the conversation is probably punctuated by awkward silences, even if the two had known each other for a decade. Maybe because they have known each other that long.
So, we’re coming in at 999 words—phew, just made it.
Next week is the first Critique Partner round, and I’m looking forward to seeing what kind of input my CP has for me. One of my biggest struggles is keeping stories tight, not meandering too much into backstory. I think (fingers crossed?) that I managed to keep this one to the point (maybe?!) but we’ll see.
Oh, and it has a name, now:
Pros and Cons: Self-Edited Draft
I refused to make another pro/con list. If I made a list, it meant he was at least partially right. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction.
It was supposed to be an easy job. Get in, get the goods, deliver, done. One final gig: The last hurrah before my retirement, a job to get The Life out of my system. Then, something…different. The whole deal: New name, new city, new gig.
A security guard post at a London museum. Or Paris. Crepes and café au lait instead of firearms and felonies. A life I could discuss. No more secrets.
The Boss failed to mention a few key details.
One, the ‘goods’ were a person. Two, the person was my partner.
A prickle rippled across my skin. He was eyeing me again while feeding twigs into the campfire. The pieces crackled and disappeared into nothingness. Poof, gone, invisible. If only it were that easy.
“We can’t move without being apprehended.”
“I’d like to see them try.” I scraped thin, rolling strips of wood from a stick, forming a useless point. Nervous energy had to go somewhere. Why not destruction?
“Take it easy. Rash decisions won’t get us out.”
“No, the only way out is in a body bag.” I stabbed my stick into the coals and examined his expression through a thousand dancing sparks. Staying in the game was its own kind of death. One year turned to five, turned to eight, nine, ten. A decade in, only to be pit against each other—kill or be killed.
I’d sooner punch him than shake his hand, but this? We can’t claim honor, not in this line of work. A partnership, though—that’s a sacred thing.
“If we stick around to fight it out, we’re dead,” he said. Calm, considering. Calculating.
“The way I see it, we either end up dead or miserable. And you know I’m too much of a sadist to choose dead.”
“So, what’s your plan?” Not even a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He stared me down, an attempt to break through my tough exterior—to the pitiless soul beneath. He wouldn’t find anything there worth saving.
“Tell them I reconsidered, I’ll stick it out. What’s another ten years?”
“The rest of your life, in a gig like this.”
He wasn’t wrong. There was a 99-percent chance my life would be over in a few hours anyway. Nobody leaves The Life. I’d signed that agreement in blood, ‘The Life before my life.’
“What’s yours? Fake names, fake passports? On the run, always looking over our shoulders, never letting our guards down? I give it six months—if that—before they find us or we crack.”
The scent of fire-crimped pine needles and a rustling of leaves carried on the warm summer breeze, thick and humid, not an ounce of refreshing cool behind it. And now, my prospects were as stagnant as the air. Fate or coincidence, who can tell anymore?
The silence curled through the camp, a stalking cobra waiting to strike. This could be the final eight hours. Morning would bring the team—and The Retirement. I wasn’t taking the shot. Just distract him enough so they can put the bullet in his head, that’s it.
Joke’s on me, though, because his assignment was the carbon copy. Can’t have the two best players take the playbook to the opposing team—or the authorities. Did loyalty mean nothing anymore?
“I have a plan,” he said. “But, you’ll have to trust me. Quite literally, with your life.” He stared me down, eyes hard as ore in their sunken sockets.
Trust him with my life. I’m fairly sure it was already in his hands.
I refused to budge.
“Okay, then. Pro.” He hefted a hand up, one finger raised to the sky. “If I pull this off, you’ll finally believe me when I say I can plan ahead.” He raised a finger on the opposite hand. “Con, we could both die.”
“Pro, you getting caught would mean you’re finally off my back.” I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Definitely a con.”
“Not from where I’m sitting.” I allowed a sarcastic smile. It would be hard to play the part of ‘irritable tough-ass’ with something like feelings sneaking through.
“Con, you’d probably have to break my nose to make it believable.”
“Pro, I’d finally get to punch you, zero consequences.”
He tossed his stick into the fire, a chuckle mingling with the sound of firewood shifting and sparks rising from the pit.
“Pro, I have a place we can disappear. A hundred percent off-grid, untraceable. A little security I’ve kept under wraps. Con, you’ve never trusted me enough to believe I’d actually save your ass.”
It’s not that I didn’t trust him. He wouldn’t leave a partner behind—the job in Salzburg proved it. But, this was different… We’d only be partners until sunrise, then we’d see.
“In this line of work, you have one friend.” I jammed my thumb into my chest. “Trust anyone, get killed.”
“Cynic.”
I spread my hands, inviting him to take in the scene. “Exhibit A. Convince me it’s not a double-cross.”
He hitched his weight forward, leaned elbows on knees, and double-snapped his fingers, demanding eye contact. I obliged. “We may not like each other, but we both did our time. We deserve out, and I’m tired of doing their dirty work. Maybe we learn to like each other. Maybe we kill each other anyway a year from now. But, maybe this could be an opportunity to start over. And, either we do it together or I give in now and take the bullet. I’m done playing the bad guy.”
I stared past the rising smoke toward the opening the ground team would come through. Just a few hours left to make the move. I wanted out, with or without this insufferable jackass.
He was growing on me, anyway.
“Tell me your plan. Then, I’ll tell you all the ways it will fail—and counter with a better option.”
