It's Friday and I should be posting again, but I'm actually not. I'm writing. REAL writing. The kind I never got around to at SCBWI. Not blog posts. Except for this short excuse. I didn't even shower today. How's that for dedication? And I realized that I've been postponing novel-writing all summer because rewriting an old draft hurts. Ouch. You've got to wrench out all the beautiful sentences that you really loved and stick them in a file to maybe use later, even though you know you won't, to make place for less beautiful ones that work better for the story. It's sad. And I don't like to do it. But it's necessary. And I've been doing it all week. I feel like I'm bleeding, you know? But at least I have the right to call myself a writer today.