I realised at around 4am this morning that the near 60,000 words I have written this year (New Project) is utter shite. I've been trying to dodge round it, but really that is the reason I've been avoiding it - it's dreadful. 'No problem,' I've been telling myself, 'first drafts are always a bit rough around the edges.'
There is a world of difference between 'rough around the edges' and solid shite.
This morning I have begun the overwhelming task of rewriting from scratch. Oh, hell. I have only myself to blame.
Not going to go north to the show. Not self punishment, just horse not looking right. Gangly youngster. Going to go to Goresbridge next week instead, in search of a quick pony who will jump, not stop, and not be too strong for Jack. Have had a quick look at the catalogue; most are 14.2s but there are some 13.2s. Will only buy if decent. Will not buy on whim. Taking Lowri, to be sure.
School sports day this week. Going to rain.
About Me
- Caela
- I'm a divorced mother living in sin with a man who makes me insanely happy (and sometimes just insane). I'm a writer (fiction, articles, opinions, poetry, lyrics), pianist (classical, some generalised tinkering), mother, reformed anorexic (that illness took 20 years of my life and still lingers occasionally), sister (one identical twin, one big sister, one younger brother serving time), housewife, and collector of ponies (going firmly down the M&M route - not persuing the SP/BSPS lark).
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