Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Pie!

I just cut the last ELEVEN! THOUSAND! words from my novel, because as indicated previously, I am a stupid stupid stupid stupid STUPID stupid stupid stupid STUPID stupid MUPPET.

STUPID.

ELEVEN! THOUSAND!

But hey, it's mince pie season again! Can't be that bad.

4 comments:

  1. Yo, I'm still struggling to put back the THIRTY THOUSAND WORDS I cut from mine TWO YEARS AGO. Chill! It ain't you, it's just how the ball rolls sometimes. And you have mince pies!

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  2. Does this mean you figured out a fix? Or at least a place to backtrack to, in order to start a fix?

    (i don't much like mince pies. i am weird that way.)

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  3. "Page by page I slowly and lucidly reread everything I've written and find that it's all worthless . . . What grieves me is that my best is no good, and that another whom I dream of, if he existed, would have done better. Everything we do, in art or in life, is the imperfect copy of what we thought of doing."
    - Fernando Pessoa
    The Book of Disquiet

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  4. Time to grow a beard again?

    "I weep over my imperfect pages, but those who in the future may read them will be more touched by my weeping than by any perfection I might have achieved, since perfection would prevent me from weeping and therefore from writing as well."
    - ibid.

    I think he's saying it's ok to have a good cry. Over a beer. Or a martini. Or two or three martinis.

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