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The NaNo Editor Blues

AAAAAAAGH! The romance novel-in-progress I'm going over this week is kicking my ass, mostly because I cannot identify with the protagonist.

Does the "modern woman" really think like that? Honestly?

... can I please either live somewhen else, or be not-a-woman?

I'm almost ready to scream and fling things, not because of the quality of the writing, but because of the subject matter. I need to call Darkside for an antidote to the superficial bullshit. Good gods. (The writing is technically excellent, but there needs to be a lot more Things Happening, rather than keeping it all as interior monologue. That's leaving aside the content, which leaves me running screaming.)


In contrast, of course, I must recall with fondness exactly how much I utterly enjoyed reading the pirate book for the story. If that's a story that the author considers poor to mediocre, then I'm utterly dying to read the one she liked writing.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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