Sense of Accomplishment

After three months of fits and starts, amidst much agonizing and backtracking, I have now completed the worst draft of a story I have ever written. I'm so proud. Normally I would have left the half-finished draft to be abandoned on a mountainside and eaten by wolves or thrown it into a sewer once I had seen how hideously deformed a creature I had wrought, but no, this time, in the spirit of experimenting with my writing process, I persisted. And lo, the story is indeed a piteous thing to behold. But it's done! Done! Even though I had to sacrifice a cat to do it. (No, not Pixel. Don't worry. A purely fictional cat.)

I don't know if I even want to call it a "first draft" at this point. Maybe a "pre-draft."

Now that I have seen how execrably I can write, it's time to put my surgical skills to the test and see if I can somehow slice, transplant, and suture this baby into some semblance of life.

Famous last words: At least I can't make it any worse.