Round two

I am accutely aware of myself, which is not much fun. Sadly, I find that I am my own best editor and best judge. Everything I am reading in response to my work is what I have thought myself before. I am too honest with myself and it makes me want to crawl back into bed.

I have a flair for descriptive detail. My characters have life. My plot is less than stellar. Ah-ha. My plot is perfect as it lives inside my brain, but has trouble surviving outside. Oxygen turns it. Adjectives devour it. Seratonin gives it the final KO.

How in the hell do writers write when they have children, snoring husbands, tuna steaks to sear, whining cats and freezing rain pouring down the windows? I don't have time/patience/stamina/concentration to flesh things out properly, so I just end up submitting work I very well know is half-assed. Don't they see how marvelous it really is if you just read between the lines??

That snotty little SAT superstar, top-of-the-class geek that I thought I buried long ago keeps rearing her ugly head. She wants to outshine everyone. She wants to elicit comments with multiple exclamation marks. We're gonna throw down.