In a distant long forgotten world, once known as RegularVille, the second draft of Grim Glass Vein would be a finished thing covered in the brutal red (or perhaps green) marks of the final edit. But in IrregularVille, the writer makes trackmarks on her carpet as she rolls from laptop to PC and puts off the inveitable words The End.
I think she is a little scared.
In the between places, she thinks about her characters and especially about the little people who skirt around the edges. Delicate, skeletal creatures, mere wisps manipulated by the antagonist and the protagonist. I need to cut their strings and breathe life into their chests.