I'm reading a draft of a book I wrote. The Worlds is the
first volume of a sci-fi trilogy, of which I've written the first two
books. My job this year is get the book into shape so I can publish it.
Okay, that's the background.
As I read The Worlds, I'm surprised to see a radical difference between the main body of the book, which I wrote three years ago, and sections that I wrote last year. The new sections are way better than the original draft. It seems I'll have to rewrite most of the book. That's fine because after so many months of editing Xmas Carol, I have a hunger to write new things. Let me at it.
It's stormy today in New York. You know what that means: perfect reading weather. I know what I'll be doing for the rest of the day.
As I read The Worlds, I'm surprised to see a radical difference between the main body of the book, which I wrote three years ago, and sections that I wrote last year. The new sections are way better than the original draft. It seems I'll have to rewrite most of the book. That's fine because after so many months of editing Xmas Carol, I have a hunger to write new things. Let me at it.
It's stormy today in New York. You know what that means: perfect reading weather. I know what I'll be doing for the rest of the day.
