I am torn by guilt.
I just edited the previous post two days later because I was uncomfortable with some of it.
Not the content -- just a few phrases that seemed awkward.
For some reason I'm troubled by this.
Which is laughable. I'm the world's worst nitpicker and rewriter. I mentioned earlier that I'd put one piece through 57 drafts (a good portion of those on a typewriter) and I'm still not sure if it's ready to go out into the big bad world.
Still, revising one's work in full view of the public leaves me feeling queasy.
I drunkenly wrote a piece on the Great White concert fire in Rhode Island back in February and yanked it off the next morning, disgusted with my glib and shallow words.
I put it up again when I'd written a coda that covered my ass to some degree. (Not that it mattered -- no one's hit the original, nor the emendation.)
I'm not sure if I'm trying to protect the public's sensibilities or mine.
To quote (sort of, I think) Vladimir Nabokov:
Showing the first drafts of your work is like showing the contents of your handkerchief.