There is an irony here.
I have been posting old pieces of writing in the hope of discovering some overlooked talent. It was like showing old photographs of yourself, expecting to see something different. I may have left my ‘then’ writing behind, and there may be some nice touches in it, but it is old writing that has not evolved to the place where I feel it is now.
Like me, my writing has grown older, less obvious, and a tad wiser.
The difficult issue with rewriting old books is that one finds it difficult to disassociate oneself from one’s previous incarnation. The writing is essentially the writing of someone who has passed. It is a memorial to a previous self, a memory of a time gone by, an artefact. And I have problems with throwing things away. However, what I thought to be good back then is not so good now.
How does a…
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