….really put a skip in a girl’s step. I won’t put too fine a point on it, but, actually, I will. Newton was born the year Galileo died. I was born the year Tolkien died. I’m one of those intellectual types who can detect patterns where there are no patterns to find. I have, in essence, A Beautiful Mind. Do you see the pattern?
The truth is my writing is so far removed from a Tolkienesque reality that it’s like a Meyers to a Bradbury, and my only resemblance to the man is in my need to perpetually edit. I’ve already stated as much on my bio page, and it bears repeating. I can’t stop editing. I have a serious problem. I finished Anna and the Dragon. I set up a CreateSpace account. I have an ISBN. But because my cover art isn’t yet finished, I’ve started editing again. It’s like a sick kind of fixation with me. And the more I edit, the more the work seems like an avalanche. I edit in more errors that factually effect 2/3 of the rest of the book.
Now that I’ve knocked down what little faith you had in my abilities, I hope to have the final version up next week. It comes as a relief to me that writer ≠ career for me these days. I’ve been having dreams of murderous men who seek to kidnap and then stab me. Thankfully, I’m rescued every time by musicians of varying sorts (singers, songwriters, guitar players), which allows me time to dig up heavy machinery and fight back while seated on backhoes or bulldozers. I find these dreams to be highly symbolic, and I detect subtle patterns woven in that may or may not actually exist. I’ve often woken up wondering why the musicians didn’t start in on renditions of Where Have All the Flowers Gone or One Tin Soldier Rides Away as I victoriously excavated and then bulldozed my enemies.