Lukeman Exercise Part Two | William B. Gray

I decided to shorten paragraphs. To keep the sense in it, I didn't really change anything, so it mainly just adjusts the timing of the piece.

Here's the revised edition: (here's the original)

The wind howled outside my bedroom window. I knew it was cold. I still wanted to be out shooting pictures of the night. Mom said I'd catch a cold. I didn't care about that.

There were so many things to explore at night. First there were the stars. They called me to take pictures of them with my shutter open for hours. I'd bundle up to stay warm. Mom didn't care. She'd never understand. But I just had to go out in to the night.

It snowed yesterday too. There's a full moon tonight. I couldn't wait for the day to take pictures of the snow and the moon. The sun would ruin everything. I'd have to keep the shutter mostly closed. The clouds would just be in one spot in the picture. With the shutter open I could let the clouds move softly across the frame.

The wind still howled. I decided to defy Mom and take pictures of the night without her permission. I opened my window to check the temperature. The wind took my breath away. It had to be well below zero. I gathered up the camera and some film. Then I grabbed my tripod and a coat.

Where are my gloves? I couldn't find them. I tried to think of where I left them. Then I remembered. In my coat pockets. They were right where I left them. I crept through the door. Mom might be awake. I had to be quiet so that I didn't disturb her. I tip-toed down the stairs. I tried to avoid the noisy stairs. Finally I opened the back door. I stepped out into the cold.