Hip-deep in revisions. I’d forgotten what it was like to gut a manuscript.
HA HA JUST KIDDING, IT’S BURNED INTO MY CRANIUM, I CAN’T FORGET.
Yeah, it’s revision time again, as if you can’t tell. I thought this book–my retelling of Beauty & the Beast–would hold up fairly well. My goodness, but was I ever wrong. Passive voice, dialogue tags, a million instances of “that,” the most horrid word of all, it’s got a little of everything. And I’m not even a hundred pages in yet.
At least when I’m done, it’ll be much better, and pretty much ready for Saint Skyla to copyedit and begin formatting. I think I’ll put it out in paper first, and only ebook if there’s a call for it. The worst that can happen is that it’ll sink like a stone! Now there’s a cheerful thought!
You’ve guessed it, chickadees: Mama Lili is in that peculiar state of frangible nerves only revision can call forth. Even the garden’s not very soothing, though another couple of roses have gone into the side-yard and the favs are growing like gangbusters. This will be the year that I need a wheelbarrow, too.
What? No, for carting compost, what did you think I’d be carrying in…oh, wait. never mind. A justifiable question, really.
Of course, the reason the garden’s doing so well is February’s unseasonable warmth. I’m hoping there won’t be a cold snap to blight everything that’s begun to green. The crocuses are out, daffodils too, and tulips are showing their bare arms, reaching for the sun. I’m worried over one of the Japanese maples, and I have to have a talk with the birch tree about the recent windstorms and the shed limbs.
All that, however, is for another day. Today is for the revisions, and my timer has just rung, so I must return to the salt mines.
See you later.