"Its spirit invades me, bleeding me white..."
All of yesterday was spent editing The Red Tree. In the end, I wrote something like 900 words of new text, though so many changes were made, there wasn't really any way for me to backtrack and get an accurate count. Editing is, for me, not so unlike dragging oneself through a sea of broken glass and burning pitch, with the promise that the shore is very, very near. Only, the shore keeps moving farther away, the longer and harder you swim. It is vile work, and nothing I would ever wish on anyone I care about. At best, it usually teaches me to hate whatever novel I'm having to edit, no matter how much I might have cared for it when the editing began.
Really not much to say about the past couple of days. I was in too foul a mood to make an entry yesterday, and, likely, I am in too foul a mood to be making this entry.
Really not much to say about the past couple of days. I was in too foul a mood to make an entry yesterday, and, likely, I am in too foul a mood to be making this entry.