what if there’s fog?

Writing is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as the headlights, but you make the whole trip that way.

– writer E.L. Doctorow

Sure, Edgar, but it's worse than that, isn't it?

Writing is like driving a snowplow on a mountain road at night, in a blizzard. You can't see beyond the lights, or see the side of the road. (Yes, of course, somewhere out in the powder there's a yawning invisible precipice, meaning certain death.)

Nobody can tell you where your destination is, or whether the road behind you is clear enough. But the snow keeps falling, so you keep backing up, inching forward, backing up.

And at some point, you just have to call it bloody well good enough, holler let the traffic trough at their own risk, and go home to bed.

Writing is rewriting, is my point. The first pass is the fun part; after that, it's work.

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