one of the most difficult aspects of writing, at least for me, in the parlance of somerset maugham, is the prospect of killing a baby - ie, deleting a cherished piece of writing, whether it be a chapter, a paragraph, a sentence, or maybe even a character.
just before i got sick, it had occured to me that the structure that i'd settled on for my current work in progress wasn't working. i saw what i had to do, but i didn't want to do it.
this morning i bit the bullet, created a new file, cut and copied and pasted the salvagable parts and started fresh. But interestingly enough, not before i was forced to do battle with an enormous brown recluse spider who seemed to have decided that the laundry basket in the new laundry room was a perfect place to make a nest.
as a dear friend pointed out, Spider Medicine is Writer Medicine.
and furthermore, the war will end. blessed be.