Scene of Rewriting

"You are not going to play games on your PDA." I told myself stern(e)ly. "Until you have done at least one useful thing."

So I sat down to redraft my essay submission for grad school. Normally I am quite proud of my essays. I like to strip them back to essentials. Not this one. In this one I went for the full-on confuse-o-text version. In a soup of words, indigestible chunks like this keep rising to the surface:

If the virtual reader of the fictive author diverges from that of the real author, it produces irony. If they both diverge from the actual reader, it creates distance in the scene of reading.

I need to be punished.

And I am. I'm having to read the damn thing. Over and over.

The 'zine, however, is actually in sight of being finished. And the novel? I've never actually gotten to the second draft stage of a novel before, and it's fascinating to me -- It's much more work than I imagined, but I can see how the work will be done. There's something exciting about that.

rf