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Inside the Silly Writer's Head

The conversation that took place in my head during revisions:

Dang it. I've established it's cold in that stronghold corridor, but Syrina is just standing there. Maybe she's distracted from the cold by the talk she's about to give.

No. I've been cold. Really cold. If anything, the cold would distract her from the talk.

Okay, let's give her a blanket. That works! She hugged the blanket over her shoulders...

No, wait a minute. She can't walk into this talk wrapped up in an old blanket! Wouldn't happen. So maybe she drops it in the corridor before she walks into the dining hall.

No. Blankets are too valuable in this quasi-prison.

Maybe she could hand it to someone.

No. That's a silly bit of business.

Maybe she could—

Okay, Blair, stop right there. You're creating a massive problem over a stupid blanket. Do you really want to waste the reader's time explaining this whole cold-so-need-blanket thing?

No! But now that I've thought about the cold, I just can't let it pass. I wish...

Huh. That'll work.

Syrina wished she'd brought down a blanket, but...

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Blair MacGregor
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