Tweaking and tinkering, fiddling and finessing, I’m enjoying the stuffing out of spinning misspent drafts into gold.
Well, ‘gold’ might be a stretch.
Anyhow, I’m re-fashioning an unsold romance into something, um, more?
What that ‘more’ might be, I haven’t a clue. But just being back in the old fiction workshop is a joy (and a relief to my old clunker of a brain that’s been idling in the garage much too long.)
Bottom line: Direction doesn’t matter. Movement does.