Ad nauseam

I had a lesson with my writing teacher this week, and although things got off to a healthy start ('yes, I like this first chapter, well done,') by chapter 4 the compliments were waning (this needs a little more work.) By the time we'd limped through the last two ailing chapters, we were both a bit sick of it.

Oh dear. Is it just me or does anyone else regularly find themselves breaking out in a cold sweat, stomach-churning, while they feverishly try to remember what exactly possessed them to ramble on for 600 words - yes, two A4 pages! - about something completely gross?

This week's humiliation centered around a scene when one of my baddies was sick on one of my goodies. It seemed like a good idea at the time - a kind of dramatic turning point that inspires my hero to stand up for herself at last, after 60,000 words of lolling about like a weakling. Still, did I really have to go into such detail? What made me think anyone would want to read 600 different descriptions of vomit? I must be sick in the head!

Taking a deep breath, and a gulp of peppermint tea (to settle her stomach?), my teacher wisely suggested I rewrite the offensive section, trying this time, NOT to repulse the reader.

Bloody obvious, I know. But for some reason, in my determination to create vivid imagery, I’d overlooked the fact that no one wants to read about puke - no matter how clever or original the description.

Let’s hope I've learnt from that hiccup...