I’ve put it off long enough.
I must edit the third draft of my story.
It’s been a while since I looked at this novella and, to be honest, I’m kind of terrified. Is it going to be better than I remember? Worse than I remember? I have no way of knowing until I reread it.
Will it stay a novella? Will I have to hack away at it until it’s a short story, or pile on it until it’s a full-length novel?
There are so many questions.
Unfortunately, there are no answers.
Only the Red Pen.
The Red Pen snorts at your characters’ backstories and your obvious social commentary.
The Red Pen cares nothing for your need to impress your friends. It scoffs at your attempts at fictionalizing yourself and rewriting your high school years so everyone thinks you’re great and you date that hot guy from your chemistry class.
There is no hope.
Remember that character you were going to develop, but then abandoned? The Red Pen does. That awkward sexual metaphor you made in the third chapter? The Red Pen noticed.
The Red Pen sees.
The Red Pen knows.
Wish me luck…