I hate it when my (beloved) Thesis Committee is smarter than me.
I KNOW THIS.
But they are so so so smart... and quick with their red pen swords, slicing away all my lovely syntax and verbiage. Ugh. Can't a girl catch a break? I'm feeling pouty at the loss of one particular descriptive passage:
"The process became more liquid, more malleable, like heated gold. Like a blacksmith, I was hammering out the chaff from that which would, at the end of the day, make the best piece of fine glided prize."
Not totally prize-winning. Ok ok. But it was a creative baby. And...
I CAN'T KILL ALL MY BABIES.
I... just... can't...
Boohoo. I'll get over it. Back to writing/editing/killing my babies.
(This is how I feel about my original cleverness that is being slashed to bits:)