Short version? Ow. Leg. No.

Shorter version? *shriek, fall*

Long version? Leg. Bounded to a ten on the scale. Took more of one pill than I am supposed to take at once, apparently, but it was the only thing that did anything.

Since I have no think, here is a thing.

I’ve broken out the Editor’s Sword:
 

The Red Pen.
 

Hard to tame and equally hard to wield, the Red Pen is the tool of writers everywhere who want their work to reach the highest pinnacle of perfection, that ultimate state in which it is both pleasing and—for those writers who aspire to such heights, profitable.

However, the task that the Red Pen places upon writers is a daunting one.
 

The draft that has been created with such care, such abandon to the wild machine that is the story, must be attacked! Slashed, swiped, and cut down to size with something as innocuous as a plastic (or metal, for the enthusiast) tube containing an ink reservoir. It cuts the draft mercilessly, leaving pieces behind it in its wake: from the obvious erroneous statement to the one the author was most fond of, all are left on the killing floor.
 

But, what emerges from this war is stronger, sleeker, and just plain better than what first entered the fray. It is polished by the attack so that it shines, cut in such a way that all the facets sparkle.

And so I take up this Red Pen, and I take this First Draft, so that it may become something more.
 

I take up this Red Pen so that the lowly First Draft may become…a Masterpiece.