Four books clocking in at a collective 320K words, probably whittled down to around 280K once I really start taking a scalpel to it.
ME: "I wrote Lord of the Rings..."
ME: "...in cat vomit."
AUDREY: "Well, not if you're going to put it like that."
I've always heard "kill your darlings" as a warning to writers that they're going to have to start slashing apart something that they love. What happens when what you would really love is an excuse to go Mad Medea on it? Any other writers out there have this experience?