Retreating with Stinky Feet

Once in a while, a story idea may come along that
is unique, plausible, interesting, and which may be
written as is; without needing to be edited again and
again, in draft after draft of unfitting exasperation.
Unfortunately, such an idea is the exception to the
proverbial rule for me. This first story about playing
sebastopal with cull potatoes happens to be just such
an exception. Most of my ideas have to be grasped,
bounced around and steeped for weeks or months in
the stale mouldering mush of my mind, in hopes that
someday they will all be written down in some form
of manuscript in blanca y negro.

M. D.