Mother Nature dished out slush. I outsmarted her and postponed running until the sun broke free and zapped her handiwork. She retaliated—blasting me with heat. I adjusted my route and enjoyed the run.
My writing workshop instructor blasted my final word count, demanding I slash away thousands with sharp editing. Realizing I have no desire to face rejection from a prospective agent, I’ve begun hacking away. Result: my formerly perfect novel is taking a shortcut to improved vitality.
Personal aspirations: Open my mind. Observe new angles. Pay the price for success. Claim victory.
Until I arrive back on my doorstep, my run isn’t finished and possible detours, side roads and paths are possible. Until my novel is printed, no word, phrase, plot twist or character is spared from changes.
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