Loving the Sochi guff.
Half pipe on skis! Sooooperb.

Working on my first manuscript, Tolkienesque, forests and Goddesses and kids who speak to animals and all that gear. It didn’t translate too well the first time but I think I’ve acquired the skills needed to transform it into the masterpiece it should have been. Can’t believe how bad the first draught was but that’s what’s so great about writing; we learn; we move forward in increments and progress is made, slowly. I’ve finally learnt that taking as much time as is needed is the only way, unless you like substandard. Every mark on that screen has to be rolled and mulled and questioned and broken down until it’s the only way that works, then; only then, can it be sent out into the world to make its way into the catacombs of the Amazon computer system where it will be passed over by far inferior work but that, my dear, my precious, is the way of the world. The only reward is in the process because none of those fucks who are supposed to get behind you and support new talent have a clue what’s good or what’s not.
I only care about the quality of my ideas and my ability to transcribe that, so long as I know it’s good anyone else’s opinion is irrelevant. Only I know why I’ve created what I have and only I can judge it properly.
The ideas in the Lily Pond always were good, I just didn’t have the talent to properly nail it.
Now I can get all gnarly on its ass.


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