So I got back my first batch of edits from St. Martin’s yesterday, and the second batch followed today. I was warned that it wasn’t going to be pretty, but it’s difficult when you see a 20 page chunk of material with an X on every page, and you do the calculations. (Bye, bye, one week’s worth of work.)
Depending on my blood sugar level, I feel either:
a) disgruntled and sure that this is just another means by which corporate America is trying to dilute the emotional power of an individual’s work, ensuring that literature has no value other than as entertainment for people stuck someplace where they can’t access a T.V.
or
b) happy that I have a razor-sharp editor who’s willing to do the cutting that I was too cowardly to attempt myself.
I’m really hoping that my wife disposes of this ungodly good Irish Oatmeal cake soon that’s been unreasonably boosting my glucose levels. These mood swings are killing me.