I've been writing lately. It's been years since I've written (6, I think, as the last things I remember writing were just after we moved here) and I have to say that I'm loving it. I am a story teller at heart (which sort of explains my need for 8 different blogs) and the written word fascinates me. So I'm enjoying writing.
Right now I have Leif reading the first couple chapters of my writing project, and I have to admit I'm a little nervous. It turns out that when I write, what comes out is that which is nearest and dearest to my heart, which is, consequently, where I am most vulnerable. But when I handed him the printed pages to read over and critique, I gave him permission to give it his all and be brutal about what would make it better.
He's always been better at the form than I have, which sort of stinks since I'm the one with the degree in English. Hrmph.
So here I sit, making my own changes, thinking of areas I'd like to expand, places more details would be helpful, etc. Mostly I'm sitting here waiting, though, because I know he's on the last page.
