You know, I realize with posts like these I am never going to have a boyfriend again in my life. Please blur your eyes potential-boyfriends. Scroll down to the shoes (and ignore the sensible ones).
In other news: I was reading on Dooce the other day about how she isn’t exactly thrilled with writing books. I thought about that. There is a moment when I first get edits back that isn’t fun. My initial thoughts go something like, “ohmygod they hate it, they don’t love me, they’re going to cancel the book, I will never get another book contract again, the cats are going to starve and die, I’m going to starve and die,” but then in a few minutes I’m “Oh, they just want me to move this here.”
I love editing. Love it. For me, the blank page can be a little scary, but once I have words on it and all I have to is make those words better, I’m in heaven. I was the same way painting. Blank canvas = evil. But then I could sit for hours adding or deleting spots of color, a brush stroke here, a brush stroke there.
I love editing so much I could tinker forever, and I have to make myself stop and hand the book back in. That’s where I am now. I think today might be my last day editing and I will hand it in tomorrow.