My mind, it seems of late, is always attuned to writing. The outside world revolves around that concept. Today I watched a well-known movie. I felt sorrow for the director. There were parts that just didn't flow and I wondered if it was because those parts lay on the cutting room floor.
I'm wondering if it might be best to let someone come in with a scissors and cut 'Blue' with no input from me. The way an editor does in a film. Off in a silent room, away from the director. That way, I could go screaming into the night, pulling my hair out. Instead of doing it quietly over coffee at the nearby Panera's.
That being said, I edited 'Blue' again -- the last six chapters. And finished writing Chapter Twenty-nine.
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