The creature stalked through the underbrush, her human impulses numb and dull behind the new, sharp feral instincts. The desire to slash. The craving for destruction. She spied her prey, froze, one curled hand in the air. It was…revision time.
Rewrite time, actually. The WIP is getting shredded, going down tonight in a blaze of gory glory. I’ve got two events that should be back to back and, instead, have about eighty pages between them. So long you eighty beautiful, plot-pointless pages. We’ll see you in the big hereafter.
I like revising. Rewriting, however, is kind of a kick to the gut. But, the story will be better (as in, readable) because of it. And, you know, I’ll never miss the forty hours I put into those pages. Nope, won’t miss them at all. *sob*