Swimming through Mississippi mud.
Got the picture?
Yep. That’s how my work on Writhe has gone today. Slowly, I’m
getting to that final destination, but at times the progress is agonizingly
slow.
It doesn’t help that every stroke I take through the unedited muck and
mire I want to be perfect. Beautiful. The grandest, prettiest, most stellar
swimming stroke a swimmer has ever swam.
Stupid is what that is, and I would really, really appreciate my OCD tendencies to scram, just for a little
bit. Maybe then everything wouldn’t be so darn hard.
For example: I don’t know how many minutes I wasted worrying through
the structuring of a single, essentially non-essential sentence. In the grand
scheme of things, who gives a rat’s behind where the subject and verb fall in a
descriptor statement?!
Who???
Me, apparently.
Sometimes, I just want to take my brain out of my head and shake it
until all the freaking nonsense flies off… Of course, then, I’d have to spend a
week disinfecting my walls, couch and dog but I could deal.
So, after posting this blog, I’m taking the rest of the night off. I’ve
got to decompress a little before I lose all sense of style and charisma in my
writing.
Style and charisma are very important.
If they pop out of my brain while I’m shaking it, I’ll be sure to poke
those two things back in.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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