Only the hand that erases can write the true thing.
Erasing is easy when you’re a writer who uses the computer. Mom is all Tap. Tap. Tap.
And bingo, things she doesn’t want in her story are gone for good. And replaced by something better. It’s important that writers don’t get too attached to the words they write because anything may need to go at any given time.
Some of Mom’s critique partners thought one part of her latest story was too mean for little kids. Mom took a deep breath and erased two whole paragraphs of meanness. Now the story is nicer.
Mom had to erase our balcony flowers already.
They’ve been replaced with something better (and more alive).
I’m glad erasing can’t happen to me. I’d have been gone for good a long time ago. Mom might have replaced me with a better doggie! Whenever she brushes me, she says, “Now you look pretty.” and “Maybe you’ll stop shedding all over the place.” and “I’m going to make a new dog out of all this hair and THROW YOU IN THE GARBAGE.” Gah! She can’t do that. Can she…?
Mom has to erase my furs from the floor and rugs all the time. Also my drool.
And crumbs. And the spit marks I make when I lick the floor.
I don’t mind when she erases them. I can always make more.