In the Interest of Humility

I am typing up an older manuscript I never quite got around to putting in.

I seem to have done everything wrong that I'm finally beginning to get right (exposition, adverbs, telling more than showing) but there's a charm to it that I thought might be only my retrospective imagination. I might be the only one to ever enjoy it, but that's all right. I don't feel very invested in the story. I needed to write it, and I did, and it's what it was supposed to be...but I don't know if, twenty years from now First Impressions will become Pride and Prejudice...or whether I will fondly blow dust off it's cover, re-read it and retrunk it just as fondly. Right now I'm having trouble typing because I don't know how it goes anymore.

I guess "talent" is writing something that has such a modicum of charm even when you're not writing something significant. {I'm trying to avoid false modesty.}
I want now to be working so hard that, like Dizzy Gillespie, when I'm bad, I'm good.

I'm currently despairing ever learning to revise from a "First Impressions" to a "Pride and Prejudice". This is what I'd love a mentor for.