This afternoon for instance I wrote a longish screed about war poetry but didn't post it because something about it didn't feel quite right. I left it up on the computer and walked away and did something else- the crossword, I think- and when I came back to it and re-read it I could see that it was really very wrong. I tinkered about a bit and then wiped it because the wrongness was beyond tinkering.
If the form of a thing I've written is inelegant and badly proportioned- as this post was- I've come to realise it's almost because the thinking it embodies is inelegant and badly proportioned too. Not everything I'd written was bad- and maybe if I go away again and think some more I'll find my thoughts falling into a more elegant pattern. If they don't I'll know it's a subject on which I have nothing worthwhile to say.