Well, for my standards, pretty damn perfect. I'm cursed with being a perfectionist. (Believe me, if you've lived with this the way I have, you know it's a curse - not a gift.) Why am I doing this to myself? There will be plenty of time to revise, rewrite, add, delete, and edit later. Right?
Some days I can't feel my story. Like today, for example. When you choose to write about the topics and themes I've chosen, there are days you need a break from the fictional world you've created. It's freaking depressing. And for some reason, this week has been tough. Perhaps it's because I'm surrounded by all this happy holiday nonsense. It's hard tapping into your darkest blood cells with Christmas music blasting from the speakers above you. Sorry, I don't hear what you hear. And I don't really want to either.