Yesterday I picked up my novel manuscript and started reading. I finished it just a few minutes ago. I'm glad to report that “it's not that bad . . .” and, “it could be worse.” Much worse.
My personal favorite line:
Between mountain peaks, hiding like (something cool) lay a beautiful, clear lake.
Apparently at the time I was struggling with metaphors. I call those blonde moments. I'm allowed as many as I need in a day.
So now I get to gear up and “fix” said not-so-bad novel. Right now my mind is blank on the subject. I suppose that means it's time for sleep.