Recently, I produced a second draft of a piece titled “Butterflies on the Delphinium.” It evolved from a 1,000 word flash fiction to a seven page short story, and in the new version, I didn’t even include the conversation the first draft is centered around. Before I moved to MSA, I rarely revised my work; After I finished the first draft of any piece, I typically reread it, decided I hate it, then sent it to the void that is Google Docs’ trash folder. However, since we started workshopping our assignments in class, I’ve had a change of heart. I get really excited whenever I have an opportunity to get feedback on my work, and I take the opinions of my peers and instructor into account instead of stubbornly brushing them off like I would have six months ago. I wanted to compare excerpts that include what I feel is the best descriptive language in the individual piece and let you see for yourself just how beneficial workshops and revision can be.
Draft One: “She delicately tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear before flattening the backside of her dress and lowering herself into the seat opposite of the waitress. She ran her thumb along the underside of her purse strap and removed it from her shoulder. She hovered it over several different spots on the table and the floor, but chose to leave it resting in her lap. Her fingers involuntarily began to fiddle with the tassel attached to the purse’s zipper as she produced another strained smile.”
Draft Two: “The glowing midday sun slowly sank, painting the once electric blue sky with strokes of crimson and patches of warm orange. The change in lighting made Gwen realize she had been walking in circles for the past three hours, pacing around an unfamiliar neighborhood; she did not notice the dull ache in her feet until she finally stopped moving. Her manicured nails were chipped as a result of her anxiously picking at them, and dark polish flakes now covered the frontside of her light blue sheath dress. A dreadful wave of embarrassment washed over her, and she began to hurriedly swipe her hand against the cotton material of her dress, trying to brush away the small, thin pieces. As they floated down to the earth, Gwen noticed a sharp sting coming from the underside of her right thumb; she turned it over to reveal the irritated beginnings of a painful blister. She grimaced as she turned her head slightly to examine the underside of the long, leather strap of her white shoulder purse. The inexpensive material had not been damaged, thankfully, and tried to make a mental note to encourage herself to cease the habit, but she knew she was unlikely to find the willpower to do so any time soon.”
