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desperanceSoooo boooooored...
There's a bit in Modesty Blaise where Willie Garvin says - of sex, naturally - "Honestly, Princess, you wouldn't think it could be made boring, would you?"
Which is more or less where I am right now, except that where Willie has prioritised sex, I have prioritised writing. (Oh, hush. Let be. We can't all be Willie Garvin.) I have loved this job of mine with a passion, I have pursued it for thirty-some years, I have hated it and avoided it and clung to it and and and. I don't believe I've ever been bored by it, but I am now.
It's not the close-attention-to-the-words thing. That's what I do. It's the insuperable feeling that nothing is being made any better by this dreary unpicking, this stet - stet - stet. She obliges me to restore the status quo ante, word by sodding word. I did this once already; why do I have to do it all again?
Etc.
Really, I am going to stop whingeing soon. No, I am. Really.
There's a bit in Modesty Blaise where Willie Garvin says - of sex, naturally - "Honestly, Princess, you wouldn't think it could be made boring, would you?"
Which is more or less where I am right now, except that where Willie has prioritised sex, I have prioritised writing. (Oh, hush. Let be. We can't all be Willie Garvin.) I have loved this job of mine with a passion, I have pursued it for thirty-some years, I have hated it and avoided it and clung to it and and and. I don't believe I've ever been bored by it, but I am now.
It's not the close-attention-to-the-words thing. That's what I do. It's the insuperable feeling that nothing is being made any better by this dreary unpicking, this stet - stet - stet. She obliges me to restore the status quo ante, word by sodding word. I did this once already; why do I have to do it all again?
Etc.
Really, I am going to stop whingeing soon. No, I am. Really.