Put stories away, to sit in the dark
When The Waking Prince was finally written, I did something you might find peculiar. I climbed the stairs to the attic, opened the door and slipped the story pages into an old elf shoebox. I crept away, back down the stairs and left the story there, in the attic, in the dark.
I went about all of my usual business. I started another story, I visited my aunt Trubelia in the Northern country, I made tasty stews and tended to my two mischievous goats…everything as usual. Time passed. Weeks passed.
Then, one day, I passed the stairs to the attic and I remembered that the story was up there, in an old elf shoebox. I crept back up the stairs, with candle in hand, to retrieve it. And, as soon as I had the story in my hand, it felt different to me. It no longer felt like my story.
It felt like its own story.
I settled into a comfortable chair, with two logs just added to the fire, and I read. Why, by this time, I had almost forgotten the story and all of its twists and turns! I didn’t even recognize some of the writing! Who wrote this story? I asked myself!
And, as I read and enjoyed the tale, one or two ideas surfaced in my mind. Even though I had, in fact, read the story many times before as I was working on it, suddenly I saw it with fresh eyes.
I should really suggest these ideas to the author, I thought to myself.