Don't you love it when you start with a piece of writing so rough you don't think it has a chance of ever making sense, but you change a word here, remove a word there, add a phrase or two – and suddenly, right before your eyes, it begins to morph into something worthwhile – and your spirits soar!
When I was just a child, I used to lie on my bed and write poems and stories. I still have some of them. When I got married, my mother gave me two large boxes that were full of my early writings. My puffed up ego says, "Keep them. Someday you'll be glad you did." But the invisible sprite that sits on my shoulder trying to discourage me, says, "Throw them away. They're worthless!"
I've already reworked some of them and had them published, but many still linger in their original storage boxes, the paper growing brown and crisp from age, waiting, knowing that somewhere among them is that one phrase that will become immortal. Someday.
Ah... how sweet are the hopes and dreams of a writer!
How inflated the ego!