A Song of Vice and Ire

OK, so it's not the cleverest title; but my ire is up due to the painful revelation of one particularly nasty vice of mine: pride.

I am/was too prideful of this magnificent manuscript that I've been working on for the last six years. It blinded me to some extremely obvious (and serious) errors. The deeper I delve into this re-writing process, the more clear it becomes that what this work really needs is a match. Because it is pretty much just kindling. Seriously, it's awful.

Now, credit where it's due: I did manage to pound out 30k words at the tender age of sixteen and another 5k between then and now; for that, I am to be applauded. However, the sickening amount of lavish praise I applied to my own words should have been a red flag that something was up. Not that we shouldn't appreciate our own work, but we shouldn't view it as flawless, either. Because nothing is.

However, I am determined not to let it get me down. The story is good, and therefore salvageable. The execution is what needs work. And to that end, I have a bit of inspiration. On loop.

Oh yeah, I totally went there.

P.S. Current word count on re-write is 281 words. Hopefully posting this will shame me into getting a move on...