Grr my re-write is not going how I would like it to at all. Granite I have been a bit pre-occupied, my utra sound was this week and I am having a son. I am so very excited about it that I can't seem to focus on anything else.

So onto my re-write, I have re-written the first two pages of my novel about 8 diffrent ways, not including however many times it took me to come up with the original version. I love it and then i just seem to get stuck on a paragraph and can't get it to fit any way possible, or I will get to a paragraph and spell check it and the rest of my work will be between grades 11-12 and then this one will be at 6 and I will doubt myself wholly and get so frustrated that I start over again. Here is what I have...

" It was a chilly evening near the end of October that I wandered my way through the shadowy streets. Walking home at night always left me a little on the edge, perhaps all the horror stories I had read over the course of my life had encouraged this particular apprehension. It happened to be one of those frightfully foggy nights where every sound induces a skittish flinch and the hairs on the back of ones neck stand on end without any explanation. My black peep toes echoed menacingly as they clicked on the pavement, creating just the right sound to mimic a stalker. I pushed the unfounded trepidations from my mind and hastened the swiftness of my walk, mentally re-examining the aspects of my life in hopes of distracting myself.

This was not the first night I had resorted to this technique to prevent my imagination from wandering off and creating unsubstantiated fears. It was not that I needed to rationalize my life and the choices I had made to myself; I was quite content, in fact, I appeared happier than ninety-nine per cent of the people I came in contact with. Unfortunately, the rest of society did not consent with my lifestyle and considered me to be a loner bordering on reclusive. The few acquaintances that had managed to form a reoccurring part in my life were quite worried about me and tried to force me out into their world.

The small efficiency apartment I leased wasn’t impressive, a kitchenette, a combined living room and bedroom, but I was so very found of it. I didn’t really require much else and it was furnished perfectly to my liking. It was located in a crumbling brick hotel building that at the height of its career was alluring and enchanting, but that era had passed on. Crown molding, bead board trim, hardwood floors and picturesque window seats were only the remnants of its grand Victorian nature.

Now, age had only strengthened its grasp on me and its previous disposition only piqued my curiosity. Quite certainly it never saw the grand life I envisioned for it but I rather enjoyed fabricating it anyways. I could tell a tantalizing tale of unrequited love, betrayal and murder regarding a certain gouge one came to as they crossed the threshold of the third floor landing, as well as, an equally engrossing saga of the secret love of a solider who went away to war whose setting began at the second window seat to the right, in the lobby, where the sun shines in perfectly at a quarter past ten in the morning illuminating its occupants with an ethereal glow.

Nevertheless my apartment was to be favored above all else in that astonishing building, my possessions hailed from the Victorian period. My world was satiated with jacquards and baroques, burgundies, ivories and emeralds. I had continually been attracted to the old; old books, old furniture, even old clothing. There was something romantic about their past, a secret hidden existence that had worn away the edges leaving only mysteries of the events it had succumb to. There is such character in an antique; its decades of use have formed such individuality and character.

Though my belongings and the very nature of my life had such deep seeded roots in the hopelessly romantic genre, I myself had never ventured into that domain. It wasn’t due to any defect in my appearance or personality, the culprit tended to be my slightly askew views on the whole subject. I believed in true love and Mr. Right, but I found it unnecessary to pursue love, searching for it and dwelling upon it. If one was truly to be the perfect fit for me, would he not cross my path on his own accord. It just didn’t make sense to me to waste all that time searching for the inevitable.

I like to think I used the time wisely, instead of pursuing men I pursued knowledge with an unquenchable thirst. I was fortunate enough to be the daughter of a college professor, my mother worked as a professor in the fine arts department of the local community college. From a very young age my time was spent invading college classes, debating with professors and reading. There was nothing as revered as that library was to me, it was the first place I truly found myself at home.

I had finally made my way up to the top floor and slowly opened my door preventing Vivian Le Chat from escaping into the hallway. My only roommate came in the form of a very spoiled black cat with ravishingly long fur and a very haughty nature and this was one of the games we played. Well it is more accurate to say she played, because she and I both knew she had no interest on leaving the apartment other than the fun of hiding and watching me seek her. She had become quite profound in the art of hiding.

Tonight, luckily, I had impeded her attempts and there would be no need to ferret her out. I made my way to the kitchen to serve her a dish of her expensive kitty cuisine, while she entwined herself amongst my legs purring, anticipating her dinner. The price was a bit steep but it had done wonders for Vivian Le Chat, who had found her way into the world as a very tiny, somewhat mangy stray. She had transformed into a massive sturdy beast, who was the epitome of health.

My dinner wasn’t nearly as luxurious, a turkey sandwich and an apple. Some people thrived on food, I ate for nourishment and countless nights I had overlooked eating all together. Afterwards I pored myself a glass of wine and made my way to the bathroom. I filled the ancient claw-foot tub with searing water; the claw-foot was my sanctuary. I would lie within its clutches and allow the water to encase me. This solitary place was the only one where my mind ceased in its continuous train of thought and was at ease."

I am pretty set on it untill I come to the last two paragraphs and then it doesn't seem write and I don't know if it doesn't fit because Flesch Kincaid made me hate it or I hate it. But if I hate it now should I really settle???

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

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