Currently reading - Wolfsbane and Mistletoe, edited by Charlaine Harris and Toni P. L. Kelner
I've been editing a manuscript for the last couple of weeks (which is part of the reason I'm still reading the Harris and Kelner anthology). Some people complain about editing. It's the slow, tedious part of the job. It delivers sucker punches to your ego. It's the ugly trench work of the literary world.
To me, editing displays one of three things (sometimes all on the same page):
1) God, I am so dumb. I know how to spell 'the.'
2) What the hell was I drinking when I wrote this?
3) Wow, not half bad.
Last night, I reviewed the chapter where the heroine's brother dies in her arms. Nearly two years after I wrote the original scene, it still makes me cry.
And the hope goes on. . .
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