One of the most difficult things about writing is editing.
I don't write enough. Words don't flow out of me smoothly. They jumble up inside my head and tumble out onto the page in a big sloppy blob of letters. I look at the writing of others and I'm always amazed how breezy and natural their prose is, and wonder if it is simply my thinking process that's convoluted.
Maybe they, too, edit the hell out of their writing.
With Demons of El Dorado, I haven't edited enough.
Not nearly.
I just went back in to part 4 and made refinements.
Ever so frustrating.
You fix up passages of text, only to find the next time you read it, it requires further work, because it flows like a brick down a river. Or fingernails over a chalk board. Pick your simile.
Eventually, you just have to let it go.
The text is what it is.
(Edited for clarity. There's more I wanted to write, but I can't put the thoughts into coherent form)
(Edited the edit, cutting useless words.)
I don't write enough. Words don't flow out of me smoothly. They jumble up inside my head and tumble out onto the page in a big sloppy blob of letters. I look at the writing of others and I'm always amazed how breezy and natural their prose is, and wonder if it is simply my thinking process that's convoluted.
Maybe they, too, edit the hell out of their writing.
With Demons of El Dorado, I haven't edited enough.
Not nearly.
I just went back in to part 4 and made refinements.
Ever so frustrating.
You fix up passages of text, only to find the next time you read it, it requires further work, because it flows like a brick down a river. Or fingernails over a chalk board. Pick your simile.
Eventually, you just have to let it go.
The text is what it is.
(Edited for clarity. There's more I wanted to write, but I can't put the thoughts into coherent form)
(Edited the edit, cutting useless words.)
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