This is a reflection. A way to process, to let the feelings do what they are supposed to, then move on.
Like when you play hide-and-seek with a toddler. You know they're coming, but you make believe like it was a big surprise. I was waiting for this year to end.
I write something I'm happy with, change up the settings, then hit the 'Publish' button in the top right corner. Why should my fiction writing be any different?
You'd think we'd all be a lot more forgiving of ourselves, what with living through an idiotic presidency and a WORLDWIDE PANDEMIC HOW DO PEOPLE STILL NOT GET THIS?
Fifth Draft 