I had a great time rewriting a section of my novel today. And I realised why this revision has taken so long.

Basically, I have been so intent on beating myself up about not having finished the novel before, that all the revising has become a bore, a bit like after-school detention.

Well, I have many reasons - some good, some bad - for not having finished earlier.  But there's no point in repeating them here - or in my head. 

But, hey, I've moved on since I wrote the original draft.  I've got a little more wisdom and expertise.  My life has moved  on.  So this will be a different novel from the one it might have been in 2006.

Plus I'm publishing it myself.  I can afford to take a few more risks.

Living in the present is exciting.  Today I had fun rewriting a section I am proud of.

Scary.  How long can this upbeatness last?