Every now and then, I write a really good sentence. One that is so balanced and so well-tuned, that I know I will never give it up. Sometimes, such sentences come out of the blue, but very often, they come after days or weeks of knowing the line is there, but not quite putting it down. These moments of resolution are fine moments indeed. The problem is, that I then spend the next three hours so caught up in admiring the sentence what I have wrote, that it becomes the only thing I do all day.
The story so far
I'm from Adelaide, but I'm living in Abu Dhabi right now. One day, I saw a gold leaf four wheel drive. It made me cry.
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My first novel, Black Dust Dancing, was published by Wakefield Press in March. It looks like this:
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My first novel, Black Dust Dancing, was published by Wakefield Press in March. It looks like this:
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adelaide from adelaide 
You’re talking about that last sentence, right?
I could only wish to know, when done, that such sentence had I wrought.
Am fairly certain a sizeable proportion of the thirdcat sentences are perfect – for which I give thanks.
That whole paragraph what you wrote was not half bad either.
I think there’s waaaay worse ways to spend a day.
It’s true, there are worse ways to spend a day. But why doesn’t one good sentence inspire me to write two, and then two to write three. And then, by the end of the day, I’d have a page of greatness and wouldn’t have to panic that deadlines are looming.
Oh come on! It’s more often than that…
Not really.