I am editing this passage, which I have been having trouble getting to on account of its terribleness. And now as least I’m in it. But it’s still terrible. I think I’m going to have to go through it twice to get out all the terrible. It’s that terrible. Or, well, it’s that melodrama. Bleh.
Leftovers from when this story was a TV series are always so out of place. Must file off all the recognisable edges. No more melodrama! There should be a song I can sing while slashing and burning. Something like the seven dwarfs ‘heigh ho’ song only more violent.
Yesterday I wrote all the words in all the world. It was awesome.
I started off just sort of prodding this scene that I’ve been stubbing my toe on for a couple of weeks. I figured I’d glare at it for a while and then go and organise submission packets in sheer frustration. And then — ALL OF THE WORDS THAT EVER THERE WAS.
I may be exaggerating but you can’t prove it. Or, okay, maybe you can. But don’t. Allow me my delusion. My beautiful, nearly-eight-thousand-words-long delusion.
Oh god, how it Wednesday already and I still haven’t submitted this thing? Clearly I do not have time to write and submit. One of them has to go. Or there could be elves! Elves that come in the night and proofread my submission for me so all I have to do is press the email button! Elves that… make shoes and drink milk and… you know what? These are some damn funny elves. And I’m really not seeing what they get out of the deal unless milk is like crack for elves, in which case I don’t think we should really be enabling the habit. Worse, enabling the drug dealers. Because elves who were high wouldn’t be able to make shoes and proofread stuff they’d be weaving all over the place and smacking into chair legs. So we’re enabling the elf underground. Elf organised crime. The elf mafia.
What the hell happened to the week? Something about elves and dwarfs and… why is there a rhyming chant about hacking and axes written in blue crayon on the wall by my bed?