In case you've been wondering, the reason this blog has been so quiet is very simple: I'm up to my armpits in manuscript revisions and editing... and its not going quietly into the night.
It is instead rather like an out-of-tune brass band, with each instrument needing careful tuning. Hundreds of once pristine pages turned to little more than ash and rubble with the simple slashing motion of a red pen.
Such is the writers folly, to think that a story will stay written as initially conceived.
Chapters that made sense where they were during the initial composition seem destined to be not the great preludes they were wrought to be but instead interludes to acts unfathomed at the time of their creation.
Scenes, so artfully constructed, now little more than hazy backgrounds in the clarity of the new world arising from the ashes.
And characters, once thought destined to be the MC's of the story are instead finding themselves in the supporting cast, supplanted by voices that crept surprisingly out of the chorus to rise above the rest.
And such is the writers joy;
To find new life beneath the rubble, a phoenix amongst the ashes of despair.