It lurked digitally on my hard drive in a folder buried so deep, I hoped it would forget where it was. It sulked in a pile under my desk, harrumphing every time I started a new piece.
It was ‘The Draft’: a chain around my neck for so long, now abandoned and unloved. And then one winter’s day, it simultaneously kicked me in the shin and dragged itself from Writing > Writing Bits > Drafts > Swimmers > Draft5 (damn, I used an adverb there, didn’t I?) The Draft glowered at me and I relented. I sent it away to Bernadette, in the hope she’d make more sense of it than I ever could.
And she did: four pages of appreciation, insight and ideas, enough to make me think again; enough to let me read the opening lines and find some sense, reason and confidence in it all. If you have a sulking, vexing draft like mine, send it to Bernadette and stop ignoring it. You won’t regret it.