The weekend was spent looking over the proof of That Damn Werelion Book, and now all the changes from that pass (and the proofer’s pass) can be folded in–which should take me a couple days, but at least it’ll mean the paperback will come out relatively soon. After the final changes are done, it will be time to cut a final ebook and a PDF interior proof, then get the wrap cover for the latter. Then I can load everything, set the final pub dates (maybe a little earlier than the October 31 that’s currently scheduled) and…
…go back to other work, probably while there are roofers banging away overhead. Naturally Boxnoggin will be beside himself during the replacing of the Chez’s roof, which will be super fun for all involved. But once that’s done I’ll stop worrying so much about it, especially when autumn rains move in.
That will be a distinct relief, and I can turn my attention to the bloody washing machine afterward. It’s always something.
Maybe I’ll even take a day off afterward. I did take half a day on Saturday, but the itch to get this damn book sorted was well-nigh unendurable and slotting it around other books wasn’t working too well. I sense a spate of furious activity looming, probably as a means of ignoring other things, and I’m only grateful that the social media sabbatical seems to have re-wrapped my nerves to the point that I can work again. I’m still not going to look at the news; I can’t bear it and I have to write or we don’t eat.
That sound you heard in the distance was my heavy, gusty sigh.
At least the werelion book is relatively fun, even if it didn’t do what I wanted. Letting a work take the shape it wants to instead of the shape I think it should have is a constant theme. I do not bemoan it; I’m far more comfortable with letting others do what they need to as long as it’s not hurting anyone. There’s no reason why that shouldn’t extend to books as well.
I should probably mention that last week’s Tea with Lili was about writing dialogue, and ended up with a piece of life advice about testing for toxic people. The life advice at the end of a tea seems to be the direction we’re going, though I don’t think I really have much to give beyond stuff that essentially boils down to “don’t be a dick.” On the other hand, human beings invent so many ways to be dickish I might as well find a multiplicity of ways to encourage people not to be–certainly a thankless and never-ending task, but part of aiming to be a decent person, I suppose.
And with that (and the July sale) I shall be about my business. Boxnoggin needs a walk, my tired corpse needs to be hauled through a run, and thankfully folding in proofreaders’ changes takes far less time than proofing the goddamn book itself. The day’s work is all cut out, as the saying goes. Oh–there was an episode of squirrelterror over the weekend, too. Yes, it ended with me shoeless and screaming; no, not a single arboreal rodent was harmed. Though I do have rug burn, and bruises from tiled floor.
Off I go, then, with a beady-eyed glare in Monday’s direction. It will have to do as a warning shot, since I need both my hands for typing and can’t reach for the machete at the moment.
See you around.