If I’m God’s Gift to Writing, How Come I Suck?
A partial answer can be found in an area where I am definitely not God’s gift, though surprisingly I am strong enough– and America weak enough– that it would appear possible that I could win a tournament attracting the best in a city of a hundred thousand. I’m talking about chess.
My approximate ratings at various time controls:
1000 in 1:00
1400 in 3:00
1750 in 15:00
1900 in 24:00:00
Which is to say I’m a slow thinker. And I’ve somehow got it in my head that I need to post every day.
Just this morning I thought of an improvement for a post long gone, but wish not to add to the inboxes of followers just to make a correction. Squirrels are squirrelly. A serious V8 moment. And I had called them skittish instead.
If the material had been meant for Monstrous, it is perfectly conceivable that “skittish” could have found itself in a rough draft, but not bloody likely that it would have survived the entire editing process. And if I wasn’t racing against deadline right now, I’d have worked harder not to allow this paragraph’s Monstrous/process near rhyme.
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