Wednesday, November 11, 2009


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.



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


  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!

  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.)

  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

  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.