amendatory
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It was done. The essay he had worked so hard on was finally done. At least, the base version was done. The first draft. It would be finished with a bit of editing. He went back to the beginning and read. There were a few errors in spelling and grammar, but nothing that could not be fixed easily enough. And a few lines here and there that were not needed. And there was an entire paragraph that was in the wrong place.
His breathing quickened as he read it. Had he really written this? There were so many errors. So many mistakes that needed to be corrected. He needed to fix them. He would not rest until it was done. He began to work, going over everything with a fine-tooth comb. He mercilessly cut everything that was not needed, allowing only his core idea to come out and really shine. Words, sentences, entire paragraphs were discarded until only the single, central jewel of the essay remained.
When he was done, the essay had been trimmed down from ten pages to a mere three. He took a few deep breaths, centering his mind and allowing himself a moment to calm his wild thoughts. He had done it. He had condensed his ideas to a few, easy to read pages. It was clear, concise. It was a thing of beauty. He read over it and his eye twitched.
It was wrong. It was all wrong.
Not just the spelling and grammar. Not just a few sentences too many. No, the entire essay was wrong. In fact, the very idea of a mere essay was wrong. He needed to correct it. His ideas would not, could not, be contained by simple ink and paper! No, he needed something else. This mistake must be corrected. He had to fix it. But how?
What method could he possible use to ensure all knew his brilliance? It needed to be big. It needed to be bold. But it also needed to show the elegant simplicity of his ideas, so that anyone could understand them. It also needed to be something he could do within his limited means. He might have ideas that could revolutionize the world, but he still had a college student’s budget and resources.
He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, he knew what he had to do. The idea was rough and unrefined now, but he could work with it. He could fix the mistakes and make it everything he needed to to be, and more. He leaned forward and closed his flawed, misguided attempt at an essay.
He would not discard it though. No, he needed it as a placeholder. A way to store his ideas until his new idea could come to life. And for that, it was adequate. But for now, he had more important things to do. He cracked his knuckles, placed his fingers on the keyboard, and began to work.
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No way this doesn't backfire on this guy, right?
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