Yesterday I reported that I was nearing the end of Draft 4 of my book. This was pants. It is Draft 3 that I have been working on – and incidentally finished just minutes ago. Draft 3 is what is written in the funky little Microsoft Word header that I cleverly created rather than getting down to the hard graft of laying down words and sentences followed by more words and, ho-hum, sentences. What is happening to my mind? Draft 3 or 4, it hardly matters. It is rubbish. Don’t worry, this is not just me having a crisis of confidence - what is on the page is genuine dross. Everything up to Draft 6 is with me. I don’t know how I persevere. I wish I’d chosen to be an artist working in elephant dung, it would have been more rewarding. Still, it’s done and my Arthur/Martha identity issue is all part of the process which, apparently, I must trust. Whatever.
‘We've got more powers than ever before, more resources than ever before. This is just an additional thing.’
Seriously, Chopper, we couldn’t be more reassured. Do go on.
The vast majority of people are pretty decent. But if people persistently refuse to do this we have got pictures, which provide evidence and the police can be called.’
Well, we would be scared but we know that voice on a stick is instead of the police, right? I think there may be a tiny hole in your plan Chopper.
Well, having got all that off my chest, I feel a whole lot better. My sentences may be crap at Draft 3 but at least they’re whole and I’m not recycling someone else’s plot. Please excuse me, I now feel able to get down to some serious editing of my own...
Barbie barbarised by www.home.att.net - the swine!