Head Down, Pink Pen In Hand

I'm on page 154 of 307. I put my memoir aside for most of the summer and now I am going through it one more time, hoping that a few months of distance will make it easier to find false notes and weird word choices.

I'm surprised at how quickly it's going and also at how relatively.... well, fun, it is to do this review work. I'm reading aloud, which is the only way I can find particularly bad sentences. It's been over 90 degrees for the last week and I sit in a room with the shades down, where there is no computer, no phone, as little to keep me from my task as possible. I'm doing about 50 pages a day. If I push to go for any more than that I get even more tired of being with myself than I normally am.

Of course, my constant companions are thoughts about why I decided to do this in the first place, who on earth would want to read any of this, whether it's possible to include even more cliched phrases to describe what I was feeling....

I'm told many people feel like this at this stage of a project so I'll just keep on going. I don't know what else to do.