The novel I'm working on at the moment is a hardcopy in a three-ring binder. (n.b. The first version of the preceding sentence had the words "working on" in quotation marks, so as to more accurately reflect just how much work I'm getting done on it.)
I carry this binder from place to place in the same way Frodo carried the Ring of Doom. Like the Ring of Doom, it was pretty cool... at first. Invoking it, I would disappear, and the world around me became wild and magical. I could do things and go places I never could without it.
However, like the Ring of Doom, the longer I carry it, the more fraught with dangerous import it becomes. Lately, using it is terrifying. There are monsters abroad who want nothing more (and nothing else) than my destruction... or at least, that's the vision that's revealed to me when I invoke the Three-Ring Binder of Doom. Terror and horrors await within.
I carry this WIP with me, thinking about it, touching it, dreaming of it, but never, never actually working on it. I recoil from the thought of what nightmares the thing is made of, but I never let it out of my sight. I dare not use it, but I can't abandon it. It defines my existence, it's too important to me, it's too... precious.
My precious, precious novel. My preciousssss......
||| Comments are welcome |||
Help keep the words flowing.
I carry this binder from place to place in the same way Frodo carried the Ring of Doom. Like the Ring of Doom, it was pretty cool... at first. Invoking it, I would disappear, and the world around me became wild and magical. I could do things and go places I never could without it.
However, like the Ring of Doom, the longer I carry it, the more fraught with dangerous import it becomes. Lately, using it is terrifying. There are monsters abroad who want nothing more (and nothing else) than my destruction... or at least, that's the vision that's revealed to me when I invoke the Three-Ring Binder of Doom. Terror and horrors await within.
I carry this WIP with me, thinking about it, touching it, dreaming of it, but never, never actually working on it. I recoil from the thought of what nightmares the thing is made of, but I never let it out of my sight. I dare not use it, but I can't abandon it. It defines my existence, it's too important to me, it's too... precious.
My precious, precious novel. My preciousssss......
||| Comments are welcome |||
Help keep the words flowing.
Third time's the charm. Which means, if you don't count your anthos, you need to finish this and one more! *cracks the whip*
ReplyDeletelol You know, I've done the exact same thing before.
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