Category: editing

Another Epiphany

Had to record another epiphany. This one took place yesterday, at session’s end. Actually, I’d closed up the laptop and bagged it, and was walking out the door, when the epiphany staggered me. I considered opening the doc last night to record it, but the notion was overcome by events.

The doc is called The Epiphany. I created it back when I had that first epiphany. I didn’t think there would be more. It’s a documenting process outside of the clutter of note and snapshots that I began with this novel. I think its sheer complexity drove me to the problem. I’d often attempt to think of this novel in linear terms or straightforward acceptance of past, present and future. No, no, no, you fool! Hence, the epiphany was born.

Originally, there was just one, one important reminder to retain for focus as I wrote. A couple others evolved as the novel developed, and more emerged as I edited the novel. Now, there are eleven. Every day, I open and review them. I’ve considered printing them out and posting them to my office wall, but then additional epiphanies would require additional additional printings, and I’m all about saving the paper, right?

As for the epiphanies, they’re all about writing, editing and revising the novel, and ensuring I stay true to the vision, and not get hopelessly lost in the tangles. My motto, when it comes to writing, is whatever works.

What about you, writers? What coping tricks have you developed?

1

The Plan du Jour

Plans must be made every day. They’re compartmented by activity. They’re all based on what’s been done, and the overall goals, objectives, mission, and visions.

This is a product of my military years. Make lists, prioritize, structure and plan, hup – two – threp – four. About the only thing in my life exempt from planning is this blog. The blog is just a lark, a creative outlet, a place to vent and rant, and a channel for improving my knowledge, sparking my thinking, and making connections. Everything else is serious.

Writing is especially serious, even as it’s fun. A plan is required or an organic writer like me. The most critical part to remember about having a plan is that it’s a tool to help organize and progress. Trying to make the perfect plan is counter-productive, unless you’re murdering someone or robbing someplace. In just about everything else, it’s sufficient to have a sketchy plan.

When I’m writing the story, the story writes the plan. My novels typically begin with a concept or a setting. Ideas volunteer and find roots.

But writing is like vehicular traffic for me; everything causes a reaction. Implications, issues, conflicts, and outcomes arise. Plans are needed. Some of that planning is researching aspects to provide more depth and realism. Other planning is simply developing concepts and character background. Characters often leap into action on a page. I accept that, but to carry the story forward and keep it honest, I need to know that character. So, off I go, into a character snapshot. Some of that ends up in the novel as exposition. It depends upon the material and story. Even if I include it at that point, it can be removed later. It depends upon the arc, relevance, and pacing.

Writing and walking work well together. My mind can pick up where I left off writing the story on the last session and resume that thread preparatory to beginning a new day of writing like crazy. Reading and writing works well for me, too. Reading fuels my creativity, invigorates my desires, and reinforces my will, all good things while on a novel-writing journey.

All of this is less so with editing and revising.

In editing and revising, I already have the raw material that writing provided. The characters are established; so is the plot. The research has been completed, for the most part, and the results are embedded in the story.

I can say that research is completed for the most part. Sometimes while writing, I’ll put in some shorthand about something require greater detail, clarification, or verification that I’m not completely wrong about what I think and have based my novel decision upon. I use the shorthand because I’m in the writing rhythm and don’t want to divert myself from that path. I mark these places with <TK> and some explanation about what I wanted for there, and why. These might need research at that point. Sometimes, though, I find the research has been completed and used elsewhere. Sometimes I find that what I thought was needed there is no longer required. I go with the flow as I see it.

An editing and revising plan then evolves more into finishing the novel as a coherent and entertaining story that others can read and enjoy. I sit down to edit and revise with a goal of completing thirty pages each day. It’s just like running miles for me, or walking; having a specific objective keeps me focused on the overall course. That objective, though, isn’t the goal, and I don’t confuse the two. Editing and revising the book remains the goal for this phase of the vision. The vision is a completed, published novel.

Thirty pages is a somewhat arbitrary distinction. I often exceed that. Once in a while, I’ll fall short.

Reaching thirty pages a day is neither easy, nor difficult. It depends upon the work presented. Some of it’s already been significantly revised, edited and polished, because part of my process as an organic writer is to edit and revise as I write the novel. These sort of passages are a pleasure to edit and revise because they’re so easy. The biggest problems I encounter are writing butt and becoming complacent. Writing butt is, of course, when you’ve been sitting for so long, your ass has gone numb. Since I often have my head up my ass, this can have serious health ramifications for breathing and thinking. Complacency is when I stop thinking critically about what I’m reading.

Beyond this basic plan and structure for editing, sometimes, in the course of reading what’s been written, I’ll draw up short. Something does not align with what was previously read, or what I recall writing later in the novel. At that point, I have options.

My options depend on how big I view this mis-alignment, i.e., how disturbing or surprising I find it, and it’s influence on the rest of the plot and novel. Sometimes, it appears to me to be so large that it becomes a plan to resolve this difference. Other times, it’s smaller and I simply make a note to review and resolve. A few times, the flawed connection has arrived because I just read that part. Then, I’ll flip back to it quickly, confirm my facts, and continue. A few times, it’ll be something like a planet, ship, or secondary character’s name. When that happens, I’ll verify, and then completed a global search and replace.

With all plans, as learned in the military, it’s about mission accomplishment. What is my vision, and how does completing my mission support it? In writing a novel, it’s pretty damn simple and clear.

Now, excuse me. I have a plan to go edit and revise, at least one more time.

What about you? Do you have a plan du jour?

 

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Angst Man Rides Again!

I endure a lot of angst about who I am, who I think I pretend to be, and being unmasked as a pretender.

I’m not unusual. Many in western society seem besieged by angst. Writers, from what I read, endure high levels of angst that erodes our self-confidence. We’re always worried about being discovered as a pretender. I think it’s because we’re working alone so often, but also, subconsciously, we compare our works in progress with other published materials and writers. Right or wrongly, we can come out feeling like a loser because we see elements in others’ work that we don’t see in our work.

In retrospect, I believe I suffered an angst spell the other day, when editing fatigue overwhelmed me. There’s no doubt that editing fatigue afflicted me. That isn’t uncommon. I’m usually able to push through. Each of us have limits to how much we can push through. I’d hit mine.

And I believe that my angst contributed. Writing alone, with no one to talk to about my progress, doubts, victories and hopes, leaves me mentally, intellectually and emotionally diminished.

Writing about it was a successful gambit. Just opening up and spilling my concerns was a release. Also helpful is how other writers jumped in with their stories and suggestions. These were enormously helpful to lifting the shroud of doubt and weariness encumbering me. By the next day, I’d resumed editing and revising.

In the aftermath, I considered taking regular breaks from writing, editing and revising to keep me fresh and sharp. Multiple decisions are being made while editing and revising. Some require more thought about the impact on the novel’s overall arcs. It is taxing. Maybe taking breaks would be beneficial.

In classic personal faction, I decided, yes, taking breaks is acceptable, but…scheduling breaks is more troubling for me, so I’ll approach it organically. If I feel a break will help, I’ll do as some comments suggest, and listen to myself.

Now, I have my mocha and I’m at the table. It’s time to edit and revise again, at least one more time.

6

Editing Fatigue

I don’t have the statistics on this, so I don’t know what the hell I’m writing about. What’s new? many ask. Yeah, thanks.

I believe I have a case of editing fatigue. I’m experiencing these symptoms:

  • General malaise
  • Boredom with my novel
  • A lack of will to keep editing
  • The urge to write something else

My first anxiety upon experiencing that today was that I’d written a boring book. The book could be boring, no doubt. But I believe I suffer more from almost continuous exposure for almost a year. Such exposure can cause malaise and boredom. Even people seeing naked people for a year can become bored with them, if they’re the same naked people.*

I believe that two hundred pages into the editing and revising process has inured me to the novel’s charms. When I began editing, I was excited about it. First, hurrah, a first draft was finished! Second, I saw editing as a chance to shape raw material. Still true, these points, but the chapters I’m editing and revising have been subjected to editing, revising and polishing for several months. That’s part of my process. Naturally, those sections that are older have gone through the process more often.

What do I do about it?

Which is more important, to know and acknowledge a problem, or to do something about it? I assign equality to them. Being blind to the problem, I can’t fix it. If I don’t fix it, the problem will continue.

Of course, in this sense, I don’t see it as a problem to be ‘fixed’ as it is more something that must be endured. Putting it into the context of my life, I have a demonstrated tendency to go through these periods. It helps to know myself.

Knowing myself helps me understand that this is temporary and that I’m not as doomed as the Titanic. It helps me regain balance and momentum, and address the issue from emotional, intellectual and physical aspects.

So the first thing to do….

  • Have some coffee
  • Sit
  • Think
  • Read
  • Write

Being who I am and old enough to understand with some degree of reliability in this matter, I had a cup of coffee, sat down, and thought about what I was thinking. Knowing that I can be trapped in my own thoughts and victimize myself by making it seem worse than it is, I researched the subject, looking for confirmation that I’m not alone, and that I’m not the first to endure this. I also read about what others did to cope with it, looking for anything new and different that might help me.

I don’t specifically find articles on editing fatigue, but on writing fatigue. To broaden thoughts about all this, I read about medical fatigue and material fatigue. It’s striking to me that it’s actually more like material fatigue that I experience. Expanding my thinking, I hunt for articles on burn out.

And then, because I am me, I write about it to help me explore and understand what I think about it.

Others’ Suggestions

Others experiencing this commonly suggest, “Take a break.” Yes, that seems like a logical and natural reaction. That’s what I want to do. But again, being me, I have that whole absurd guilt about taking breaks. Taking a break seems like a violation of the Writing Code — Thou shall write, edit, revise and work continuously until the blooding thing is done, or the Writing Gods shall curse your book — so I struggle with it.

I’m afflicted by this in everything I do. Once I start a project, I want to go until a ceasefire is declared, and I’m given permission to stop. But again, logically and emotionally, through experience, I know that taking a break is beneficial. The benefits include renewed energy and dedication, and often even new insights into what’s going on with myself and the process I’m engaging.

Reading about occupational burn-out provides me more powerful understanding of what I’m enduring. I’d suspected that some of the problems with the editing and revising process versus the creative writing process is that I’m addicted to creative writing. Creative writing engages me in multiple ways, and is rewarding. I can create and enjoy the results.

Editing and revising is more about improving existing material. While I can enjoy the results, there are often pages with few or no changes. No changes, no work engagement, no satisfaction with a job well done.

Is that your final answer?

My final answer is that I will take one or two days off from editing and revising, and instead address other areas of the novel to be, and also take the time to address other languishing areas in my writing career.

I’m not worried about setting a specific amount of time. I know that I’ll return to it. Just giving myself permission to take a break, I feel relief, and can feel my internal stores begin to replenish. I’ll go read for pleasure; as a writer, reading stimulates my writing inclination. I just need to ensure I channel my energy into editing and revising the current N.I.P. and not allow myself to wander into a new project.

So what about you?

Hey writers, do you feel any of these symptoms? How do you cope?

I really want to know.

 

*Regarding looking at naked people. I’m sure there are some who can gaze upon naked others without break and remain eager for it every minute, hour and day, ad nauseam. I also suspect that the subject of such watching might affect results, along with the age of the naked watcher.

So, your results may vary.

9

As I Edit

As I read, I edit.

As I edit, I check on the pauses and look at notes to confirm continuity.

As I read and edit, I’m surprised and delighted by how well the novel comes together.

As I’m delighted and surprised, I’m nervous and anxious. Will the enjoyment I find be sustained, and will others enjoy it as well?

Then, as I read, I forget.

Until there’s another pause and I edit again.

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Raw

That first phase of writing fiction for me is collecting the raw materials. I have a concept and an idea of the story, characters and settings. All the elements enlarge, becoming illuminated, as I write the tale and finish the first draft. The first draft is always so raw. I’m not one of those who thinks the first draft is almost the final draft. It’s just raw material. Now it’s ready for shaping and carving. Sometimes I’ll add stuff, but mostly I add by removing material.

The work pace shifts into a smoother, more contemplative, and relaxing process. It’s like your dream house is being built. “It’s finally happening,” you keep telling yourself. “I almost stopped believing it would ever happen.” But tangible progress is visible. The foundation has been laid, the walls have been erected. Doors and a roof are in place. It’s less a collection of material and more like the place you dreamed. I feel the same with this novel in progress.

Time to write, edit and revise like crazy, at least one more time. Looking ahead, it appears there will be many more of these subjects to come. I embrace the pleasure of the work.

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The Flow

I’m in that writing flow, a preternatural existence where the writing process works exceptionally well for me. Permitting it to suck me in, I sit and read, edit, revise, and type. When I’m off the computer, I write in my head, making notes to myself. Sometimes I slip over to the computer, open the doc, make a few quick changes, and save it and close. I see the book as a completed whole. I feel its heft. Its shape fills my hands. I’m just refining the digital presence to match what I see and feel, what I know to be real.

Slipping back into the real world reminds me of being high. Colors are sharper and more vibrant. I feel more aware and in-tune, balanced and at peace. I think, I’m on a writing high, stoned on creativity. I’m sure there are some bio-chemical components released when I feel like this that reinforce the sensations, driving me to seek this experience again, itself developing into and generating a wheel of expectation.

Of course, it’s daunting and dismaying when that damn wheel tumbles over or freezes. If we’re good with coping with it, we develop approaches to fix it, oil the wheel and get it all turning again. Reading an two-year-old article posted to HuffPost, “Eighteen Things Highly Creative People Do Differently,” I’m surprised that I have all but three of these habits structured into my existence.

One area where I divert from those eighteen things is that I do like habits. I use habits to protect the creativity. Setting myself up to write at about the same time, with the same drink, at the same place, creates intentions and expectations for me, and frees me from others’ expectations for what’s going to happen during that time; they know I’ll be off writing. Then again, as the article suggests, I’m structuring my day to take advantage of my most creative and productive periods.

The second is that I’m not a risk-taker. I’ve taken risks, and I’ve broken bones, and gotten hurt and lost in all manner of ways. That, and my wife’s predisposition toward being cautious, has muted my risk-taking. Being honest with myself, though, I still have a huge self-confidence gap and remain insecure, another reason why I avoid risk-taking.

The other trait that I don’t do is surround myself with beauty, unless you can count my cats, wife and friends, and the natural beauty of southern Oregon that surrounds us.

In that HuffPost article, the author, Carolyn Gregoire, writes about the flow state that I wrote about, quoting Scott Barry Kaufman, who co-wrote a book about creativity. I didn’t know the flow state was actually a thing. I’d always known it existed, and that I can access it via deep thinking and concentration, not just in creative matters, but in other areas, too. It stands to reason that I’m not the first to experience it, but I’m embarrassed that I never sought more information about it.

Carolyn Gregoire and Scott Kaufman do a better job of describing the flow state than I did:

Creative types may find that when they’re writing, dancing, painting or expressing themselves in another way, they get “in the zone,” or what’s known as a flow state, which can help them to create at their highest level. Flow is a mental state when an individual transcends conscious thought to reach a heightened state of effortless concentration and calmness. When someone is in this state, they’re practically immune to any internal or external pressures and distractions that could hinder their performance.

You get into the flow state when you’re performing an activity you enjoy that you’re good at, but that also challenges you — as any good creative project does.

“[Creative people] have found the thing they love, but they’ve also built up the skill in it to be able to get into the flow state,” says Kaufman. “The flow state requires a match between your skill set and the task or activity you’re engaging in.”

The embedded link in Gregoire’s article will open an interesting TED Talk by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi about the flow state.

How about you, writers? Do you know this other-world experience in creating and being? Do you do these eighteen things like creatives do?

6

Read Like A Reader

I’m editing and revising the novel in progress. Its working title was ‘Long Summer’. Its gained a new title, ‘Incomplete States’. 

Long summer was part of the original concept, a summer for Brett and a summer for Humanity, ending as first contact and first battles were experienced. As concept understanding and development evolved and flowered, the underpinning concept and overarching story shifted. ‘Incomplete States’ is a fuller, better, title for the novel as written.

Into the editing and revising stage, I’m reading as a reader. I’ll mostly address my novel as I would if I were ignorant to its workings, as a reader would, reading it for entertainment. The differences come from noticing things and taking action on them.

  1. Typos, grammatical and spelling errors, of course.
  2. Pacing. If I find myself skipping over something, there’ a problem to be addressed. The Writer is summoned to find the root cause and solution.
  3. Pauses.

With pauses, anything breaking the reading rhythm and makes me pause requires a special investigation initiated. Several reasons can exist for the pauses. As I can’t wholly divorce myself from knowing the novel as a writer, I’m a prophet about some things destined to happen. I might be noticing a continuity issue regarding that, or a continuity issue with previously established matters. This problem, or challenge, is why some writers set aside their first draft, something called the ‘cold method’. Others will indulge in reading it aloud. I sometimes read aloud to clarify what’s causing the pause.

Mechanics could be the source for the pause, such as sloppy sentence or paragraph structures, or poor precedents and antecedents, or clumsy descriptions. Dialogue, and who is saying what, sometimes becomes muddy and must be clarified. Once in a while, the style has shifted. Some style shifts are planned and expected. The novel is a multiplex telling through six character POVs. Those characters roam in a sometimes sharply chaotic manner as their experiences and expectations, age, sex, race, and history change. The writing needs to be clear about what’s going on without revealing too much. Style is sometimes a party to that effort, but shouldn’t be an intrusion.

Yesterday’s reading efforts went superbly. I knocked out four chapters. Some changes were done. Afterward, I was answering some interview questions. The questions forced me to think more deeply about my processes. One conclusion realized from this exercise was how my processes had shifted. I used to write to finish what I was writing. I often had unrealistic expectations about how the novel should read, and how I felt about finishing it.

I’m now more comfortable with the journey and experience of writing a novel, including editing and revising it. It’s a unique experience. While people all around the planet are writing novels, each one is writing a unique novel. The experience of writing and finishing each novel is different. They concepts and stories are bred from different states of existence, expectations, and experiences – hopefully.

Time to get on with the pleasure of reading, editing and revising.

Cheers

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Schrodinger’s Novel

Phase one has been completed. A draft of the current novel-in-progress exists. One hundred eighty thousand words, it requires editing and revising.

That realization would have once fired me into an arc of despair a few years ago. Back then, when I finished the first four novels, (five, if I include the wreck of the very first miserable novel I wrote), I hated the idea of editing and revising. I wanted to be done with writing it and have the novel completed, damn it. But with the next four novels, I learned to embrace and enjoy this peculiar state. In honor of Erwin Schrondinger’s thought experiment about a cat, I call this state, a Schrodinger novel.

The novel exists but needs work. How much work isn’t known or understood. To reach that point, I must employ myself as a reader. (I don’t use outside readers until the second draft is completed and the initial kinks have been resolved.) Yet, because the novel is still incomplete in my mind and requires work, I, the writer, must also continue employing my intelligence, skills and creativity to resolve the issues.

With a tenth novel finished, I feel comfortable with my process. I’ve become more patient, mature and insightful about how I write. It’s fun and rewarding, because, damn, man, over the course of the last ten months, I’ve written one hundred eighty thousand words. That’s just what made it into the book. Twenty-five thousand more words exist in summaries, tracking documents, snapshots and thought exercises that I documented. Then there’s the stuff that I wrote and cut because it was going down a wrong path, failed to further the story, or I didn’t like it.

At this point, the novel has some semblance of the expected finished novel, subject to others’ feedback. That infuses me with powerful satisfaction.

There is a mood shift inherent in the process. My focus is sharper. I’m no longer fumbling and reaching to create a beginning and ending or to connect the dots. That, which is really the second most challenging aspect of novel writing for me, has been done.

The first most challenging aspect? To keep going when it became frustrating and I thought it hopeless. Sometimes I’d take a wrong turn. Sometimes, I’d write myself into a corner. “Now what?” I wondered. Sometimes, I’d read someone else’s novel and think, “How beautiful. I’ll never write that well.” Yeah, I do, I understand, but my writing is different from their writing, and has its own beauty.

Meanwhile, as I completed the first draft, other titles began arising as potential final titles. I often provide a working title that captures the concept and overarching story’s essence. That’s typically overcome by events as the transition from the abstract embedded in the concept to the tangible required to tell a story is processed and the actual words make their way from mind to page (or screen). One in particular arose more sharply and clearly: ‘Entanglements’. Unfortunately, that title is in use by several other writers for their novels.

As I write that and think, another novel title arises. I want to let it simmer for a few days before writing it for others’ consumption. I have conducted Internet searches, and the title doesn’t show up as another’s title.

***

The words I write here have the relaxed, intellectual tone of introspection about what was done and what remains. But the physical being that I am is sitting here in the coffee shop with a secret grin. I want to run around and shout it out to the world, “It’s done, it’s done!” But then I would need to amend that, “Well, the first draft is completed. It is, and it is not, something.” (See? There’s that whole Schrodinger’s novel again: what state does it exist in? It’s funny to me, if no one else.)

In a way, finishing a novel, or a draft of one, reminds me of being in love. It feels special. I’m thrilled, pleased and hopeful, but I really don’t know what remains to come. There’s a lot of uncertain energy unsettling the air.

All of those who have been in love will know what I mean.

2

Truths, Re-discovered

I read a wonderful book during recent flights. ‘Ordinary Grace’, by William Kent Kreuger, won a few prizes since its publication. My wife recommended it to me. “It reminds me of ‘Peace Like A River’,” she said, a book we both enjoyed.

“Who wrote that?” I asked. We both came up with Leif and nothing else. We were in the car, without computers and the phone wasn’t picking up a signal, so we couldn’t look up the name. Finding the novel’s author was put on the to-do list.

Yes, ‘Ordinary Grace’ reminded me of ‘Peace Like a River’, but I also thought of some of Louise Erdrich’s novels, as well as ‘A Separate Peace’, by Thomas Knowles, and even Harper Lee’s treasure, ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’. Gorgeously written, it was beautiful story telling, the sort of writing that incites a riot of fears, envy and worry in me. I want to write novels like this, and after reading ‘Ordinary Grace’, I was afraid that I wouldn’t. I was afraid the current novel-in-progress (NIP) was a miserable failure.

After finishing the novel, I stewed while visiting with friends and family and suffering through the requirements of socializing. They say you’re not normal if you don’t socialize, if you fail to sit down and chat, making small talk or exchanging witticism and sparkling insights regarding movies, politics and the economy. Though I’ve lived sixty years, employing my tongue to make demands for food, answer questions, and make presentations and speeches, I remain a novice socializer. Contrary to some opinions, it’s not a choice I consciously embrace, but that’s an altogether different post.

When I was finally freed to sit down and write, I entered my NIP, prepared to revile it. Surprise instead comforted me, surprise that it wasn’t the miserable pastiche of words that I’d decided it was, because it came to me. After reading the opening chapters and correcting a sprinkle grammar, spelling and punctuation issues, I went away satisfied that I’m not the horrendous hack that I’d accused myself of being.

I continued to think about why I liked those books so much, what it was about their imagery, story-telling, pacing, arcs and characters that reduced my writing confidence. First, these stories all harkened to eras that I understood through living, television, movies or other books. That’s a helpful, useful advantage. Phrases and expressions of the times could be used without elaboration or explanation because we knew these things. 

Second, I recognized that I could love to read certain types of novels without being a writer in those genres. Third, I can create the imagery and other matters I regarded as so masterful. It is work, requiring more critical and ojbective appraisal of what I’ve written to refine, polish and improve.

Yet, another truth runs under the surface. Years ago, I learned about the window of five. Its application then was about approaching suppliers and customers, and viewing their requirements through five windows to develop deeper understanding and forge stronger relationships. I’ve since extended windows of five thinking into other realms, such as fiction writing. Without resorting to extensive diagnosis, dissection and explanation, it’s possible to utilize windows of five thinking to peel layers back and garner insights into novels.

The truth about these novels was their power to engage, involve and inspire me is intimidating because it was artfully accomplished. Regardless of the genre or author, my goal as a reader it to find books like these, because, in the window of five about what they bring to me as a reading experience, I escape now, and am transported to somewhere else. I’m moved by the characters’ experiences and I identify with their issues. I learn some lessons, often about myself and how I think and feel about different matters.

Those are also my writing goals. I want readers to be engaged in my novels, to become transported to somewhere else. I want them to be entertained, but I’d also like them to think, without me prodding them to think.

Through all this thinking, I end up where I began as a writer, wanting to write something that I enjoy, that others will hopefully enjoy. I need to satisfy myself first as a reader when I write, understanding that others’ enjoyment will depend largely on what they bring to the book, but that it’s my writing skills that will help them enter the book and live through its experiences.

I can’t say with authority that this is what it’s all about; I’m self-taught. I’m probably often profoundly incorrect about my conclusions. That’s acceptable. What’s required is to keep thinking about what’s been learned and to keep striving to learn more and improve. I will probably never been completely satisfied with anything I write, which can be useful incentive to encourage me to keep attempting to improve myself.

It’s a truth I lose and find, again and again.

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