When I write, it is mostly a stream of consciousness. Sure, I go back and edit, rearrange, correct, but usually quickly and cursorily, aimed at expressing what I want to say, and no more.
I would like to be an artist. To tease with elegant or amusing phrases, to astound, or to evoke emotions. I wish I could craft my words. I would like to sit pondering over a sentence, or to come up with some of Mrs S’s wonderful words. I would like to produce little polished gems of posts, like those on The Danforth. But I’m no poet. It seems to be my lot to work on the basis of quantity rather than quality.
This is however, currently working in my favour as I take on the task of NaNoWriMo, writing 50,000 words in November. So I hope too you will forgive me if I post less frequently here over the next few weeks.