Writing...

Despite writing supposedly being cathartic...ha!...writing anything, from an academic paper to a forthcoming book is not a linear stream of word but a moulding of multiple, parallel, concurrent streams of conciousness into something appearing a whole.

I thought of the analogy with moulding a piece of clay into a work of art...and it works until you realise that piece of clay is probably a piece of s*** that you're holding. At which point you throw it away, wash your hands and feel disgusted and what you've done...

...and then feel more disgusted as to the time you've wasted and the work you've put in and what you've thrown away...warts and all...

It is at that point that you realise that somewhere in that piece of p** was a nugget of gold. So it's on with the rubber gloves to fish out that "clay", find the piece of gold (which may have just been a flash of sunlight if the first place), clean it off and continue with the moulding of your writing until you've achieved something that you're happy to abandon in public view. Just hoping that you've managed to wash off all the smell...

Hemmingway got it right:
The first draft of anything is shit. 

...anyway I'm off to read Pirsig and walk the dog...maybe simultaneously....