Anyway, I emailed the bulk of what I'd written to Alice a couple of weeks ago and promptly went into a flutter of panic because I realized - SOMEONE ELSE WAS READING WHAT I'D WRITTEN.
And what I realized tonight, was, duh. Isn't that the whole point of the writing thing? I mean, yes, there's that, I'm writing for myself that we all tell ourselves because it makes the lonely hours of creation palatable. But, come one, when all is said and done, if you're serious about wanting to have a career as a writer, you are writing for people to be reading your work. It's not an earth-shattering revelation, I know. As far as revelations go, it's pretty lame. Probably right behind the "Oh, I'm a carbon-based life form" but it still struck me tonight and was a great way to procrastinate typing up more pages to hand over to Alice tomorrow night.