Thursday, February 08, 2007
A Bloody Birth
The draft of the paper I've been working on for the past month is finally finished. I ripped it, kicking and screaming, out of my head and splotched it down on the page...or to be more accurate, 35 pages.
To be brutally honest, I'm not sure it's good.
In fact, I'm pretty sure it's not good.
It is, in reality, the opposite of good.
It started off ok.
But then it just kept going.
And going.
And when I finally got the ending, I was exhausted.
And it had to end.
So I wrote.
And I wrote.
For 35 pages.
And I pulled out an ending.
But it sucks.
And I hate it.
I'm unsatisfied with it.
And myself.
But it's done.
Until I have to go edit it.
And reopen the wounds.
The draft of the paper I've been working on for the past month is finally finished. I ripped it, kicking and screaming, out of my head and splotched it down on the page...or to be more accurate, 35 pages.
To be brutally honest, I'm not sure it's good.
In fact, I'm pretty sure it's not good.
It is, in reality, the opposite of good.
It started off ok.
But then it just kept going.
And going.
And when I finally got the ending, I was exhausted.
And it had to end.
So I wrote.
And I wrote.
For 35 pages.
And I pulled out an ending.
But it sucks.
And I hate it.
I'm unsatisfied with it.
And myself.
But it's done.
Until I have to go edit it.
And reopen the wounds.
