For the next ten days I am in Los Angeles as part of a proposal team. The company has us quarantined in a special building, away from all distractions. Gourmet lunches and dinners are catered for us. There are enough snacks on hand to stock a 7-Eleven. One of the technical managers bragged that he gained twenty pounds on the last proposal he worked. (Nerd machismo expresses itself in peculiar ways.) I have a high school reunion in a few months, so I'm trying to eat fruit instead of cookies, potato chips, and cupcakes.
I am presently revising some text that I threw together in a rush early last year. If I could spare the time, I would junk the whole business and start fresh. The writing vaguely resembles my usual style but is crude and lifeless. The transitions are awkward; there is no overall narrative thread connecting the paragraphs; and the handful of significant points are wrapped in plodding, repetitive prose. A rough draft that has been allowed to moulder for a year is an unlovely sight.