today finds me feeling ill, dejected and discouraged. as always, the promise that the day can only get better is the only thing holding me together.
i've been working on my writing relentlessly, and i find that i don't feel the same magic reading the words that i felt writing them. i wonder if this is true for all writers, if they know the pain of finding something wrong or missing, but not knowing how to fix it.
i desperately need proof readers.
in other news, i've also been spending last week getting over the disappointments of the one before. not quite there yet, but i now know there's nothing for it but to keep pushing on. after all, everything's survivable (except that last thing) is it not? i keep telling myself that i will be better for this.
just hope i'm right i guess.
