More rambling through the wilderness: N M Browne
I fear that all my posts here have been a bit writing obsessed. That’s because I am a bit writing obsessed. I am still wading through the quagmire of story, still in the wilderness trying to hack back the undergrowth with a blunt machete to find my way. I am sorry if that makes my posts a bit samey. It is making my life a bit samey too: like a video on loop. I keep returning to the same sentences, changing them, then rereading them and changing them again. You see, I have to sound like a twelve-year old boy and the prolix middle-aged woman keeps on sneaking out through inappropriate qualifiers, peeping out through syntax that ought to have died with the Edwardians. She is a pain this middle aged woman. She will keep mucking up the flow of the story with random passages of overwritten prose. Then when I walk away from my desk, make yet another hot beverage I take pity on her. She’s doing her best, not everything she does is dreadful, she’s just out of touch. Oh shi...