Woeful and Poor. Again. (Iana # 12)

 Earlier Events,  including a brief interruption, and now continuing from the journals of Iantheia, Princess of Winding, upon her return to the Kingdom.

It is unbelievable to me that I must be in such a place as Winding again. I just cannot abide it. I cannot. And yet, I must. What other choice do I have?

This morning Joli politely inquired whether I read back through my journals. I stared at her, then said. "No, why should I? I'm not writing some girlish diary just for amusement. It helps to organize my thoughts if I write them. I know what I've written and have no desire to look back."

"So, you can only move forward?" she asked, eyes dropping to the floor.

"Of course. What else is there?"

I didn't tell her how unbearable it would be, how it would break my heart if I had to relive my past and how wonderful my life was in Catha compared to here. I gave up too easily. I should have fought harder, begged Lady Hildegale on my knees, nevermind how foolish I would have looked in front of that man, Roddy.

My Life in the Circle Kingdom (Iana's Story #2)

From the journals of Ianathia, Princess of Winding...

"My life is over Joli, completely over." I dropped mother's letter to the round table. It didn't matter how many times I read it. It had ruined my life and I couldn't unread it.

I moved to the window, wishing we had a pleasant view to distract me.

"It's not over." Joli said from her cozy chair. She curled her feet underneath her and her hands were busy stitching a dress. "We just have to go home. At least its not a bethrothal."

"If it was a good match then I wouldn't mind a bethrothal." I said leaning my head on the window taking in the bleak view. The oval window looked out to a narrow stone stairwell, and the tall walls of the castle keep, only a small circle of sky was visible above them.

Hardly anyone used these stairs, no one important I might wish to see. Only distant relative of Catha's king were housed in this part of the castle, like us. We had no choice but to live here. We couldn't afford to rent rooms in town. Just as we couldn't afford a footman, or even a maid. Joli had taken on that role, and she served as my handmaiden whenever I needed one. We hadn't fooled anyone by it, it was plain to see  Joli and I were sisters, only a year apart in age.

"Extravagances." I muttered, looking back at Joli and our tiny room, with one bed in the corner, a wardrobe of minimal portortions and a cracked looking glass over the dressing table. Mother's letter said we had too many extravagances. I could pull my hair out. "What extravagances was she talking about? We live on breadcrumbs and sleep on box springs." I kicked at the bed we shared, sending a stabbing pain through my foot. "The only reason our clothes are half way decent is thanks to you."

Re: Revising and When is it good enough?

I'm starting to hate the endless revisions. I'm feeling really frustrated with them. It's a really terrible attitude to take. I know. I know. So I'm trying to give myself a positive outlook in this post. I will try anyway.

Regarding (or Re:) Revisions. Revising. Rewriting. Reworking.

Writing, and rewriting, it can go on and on and on. What drives me to do this to myself? I found this article about rewriting, called Writers on Rewriting . It has a collection of quotes from different writers about the subject, everyone from Earnest Hemingway, E.B. White, Vladimir Nabokov, Dorothy Parker and many others. It makes me both encouraged and discouraged to read them over.