A deserted Long Acre, Covent Garden, London |
In my previous column, I wrote about freeing up our creativity while self-isolating. This one will deal with what happens when we’ve managed to complete that much-longed-for first draft.
Imagine your name IS NOT Steve. Or Martha. Imagine you are the editor of a prestigious publication. And now imagine a freelance writer submitting a piece addressed to Editor-in-Chief Steve. Or Martha.
Yeah. You, aspiring writer, cocked up big time.
(Continue reading here)