butchering silk.

I’ve had a joyous week each lunchtime, sat in cafés and pubs supping soup and gnawing sandwiches, hacking about my text. The plot is pretty much in order now, tho I’m seriously trying to find a way around not writing mountains of text to fix my problems, but sadly it appears the only way I can, is to. Bugger. But hey… once I’m on a roll again it’ll be fine.

The next plan of attack? To go through each page individually and butcher it to death back in to the fine piece of silk it should be.

Oh and… I still can’t decide whether to leave the narrative I’ve written, running all the way through it… or to rip it all out and tackle the same message from another angle. Every creative writing book, I’ve read says no to narrative. Which I can understand… (with hind sight)… so I’m just deciding what to do about it. Leave it in, finish it all up as I intended, then start a better book, knowing full well that my noobish trash was all full of holes anyway.

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