“Burt’s Bees” is funnier than “Neosporin.” But it’s too late. I sent the story off this morning.
No piece is ever finished (complete?). They dwell in perpetual draft mode well beyond the submission date. I never forward the same story to more than one publication, despite the fact that they have identical titles, themes, plots and characters. There’s always a last-minute edit – a better word or phrase – that comes to me only after I have hit the “Send” key. The revised version will have to wait for the next competition.
My latest rework involves a humor (comic?) piece I submitted to a call for a non-fiction short in an upcoming anthology on do-it-yourselfers. It relates the tale of my near electrocution while attempting to install (replace?) a new doorbell. Just before submitting, I added a gesture between lines of dialog – something about rubbing “Neosporin” on my palms, after completing extensive (exhaustive?) house cleaning. It improved the scene, adding an image of me soothing my poor, overworked hands. Satisfied with that final change (tweak?), I patched it off to the publisher.
At last free (liberated?) from one more deadline, I headed to Target to pick up a few things. There in the cosmetic department, I spotted the honey gold “Burt’s Bees” display. Shoot! I thought, the heel of my hand hitting (striking?) my forehead. “Burt’s Bees Hand Salve!” How much funnier that would read!
And so, “Burt’s Bees” replaces “Neosporin” in the latest iteration. In another piece, “Loomis” (Altoona?) (Poughkeepsie?) supplants “Denver.”
It seems my search (quest?) to find just the right word never ends (continues?).