Ok, this is my first attempt at a blog entry as the new work experience gal for CN…actually, my first attempt at a propr blog entry ever, for anything, so it may all end in disaster.

When I first heard what CN was all about, my first thought was how I could shower all my loved ones (mainly my parents) with a proper bound, real-life-looking published version of my very own writing…then I realised how narcissistic this sounded and decided that maybe my dad would just prefer a cd and a nice pepper grinder for his birthday.

So, instead I am testing out the website and bulking it up by adding things to my own profile (worringly- for my sanity, not CN’s popularity-doing this is a lot like updating your profile on Facebook), and writing reviews. This is something I haven’t done since secondary school, (and was probably much better at then than I am now). I feel like I am writing mini essays instead of smart, to the point, summaries that the Time Out guide would be happy to print, like I should be. (I apologise if anyone else reads these reviews and also feels like this!)

Also, to carry on another blog?/ post? (I still need to learn the correct blogging lingo), I read about the idea to ‘murder your darlings’ after seeing it on here, and I too find this an intriguing concept, as I am one of those many people who tend to read and re-read any of my own work I find particularly good; I keep it in a draw in my room and take it out if I’m feeling particualrly uninspired or just rubbish. So when I read this idea I imgained taking a lighted match to this draw of my precious precious work and watching all the years of past writing disappear… and realised I could never ‘murder my darlings,’ not entirely, not all of them, so I take off my literary hat to those who can and have.

That’s enough of my waffling blog entry for now then, I will get back to researching and image finding.

The advice to murder your darlings is perhaps one of the more useful pieces of advice I’ve received about writing, reminding the writer that just being the best piece of writing you’ve ever done doesn’t qualify anything for preservation if it’s not serving a useful purpose. However, during this week I’ve found that the advice from a creative writing tutor to stop listening to my Inner Editor has been far more useful.

Everyone has an Inner Editor. He, or she (or, indeed, it) is the ultimate pushy parent. Unlike your Inner Child, he (for the sake of argument, it’s gender-stabilised now) is very well-read, knows all about grammar and style and spelling, and has rules about all of them. He’s determined that every sentence you write must be an exact masterpiece, every preposition perfectly in place and every phrase intelligently rounded…