Stole a wee bit of a lie-in this morning, since yesterday was busy-busy-busy. Meetings abound for the rest of the week, but today I get an afternoon without, which will be spent swearing internally at revisions. Not that it’s a bad thing to revise–far from, and the overwhelming majority of editors are here to make the book better.
It’s just difficult on an emotional level. One must set aside a certain amount of energy, both to push past resistance in order to make necessary changes and to insulate the editor from one’s own temper. In other words, a writer can rage internally all one wants, but behaving kindly and professionally is non-negotiable. I’ve talked before about setting aside processing time on even the best of edit letters; so much of this career is gaming one’s own responses.
Like adulthood. I keep telling the kids nobody knows what they’re doing, we’re all faking it, and the biggest part of being an adult is figuring out how to game one’s own habits and peccadilloes in order to get the desired result, which is being a reasonable human being.
Anyway. Fell into bed exhausted last night, and kept nodding off while slipping through Pessoa’s prose. It was somewhat agonizing, because I really do want to follow these trails to where they vanish in the undergrowth. The book was put together from posthumous notes and the like, so I know it probably lacks some final polish…but oh, what an effort, what a glorious disorder! It still very much reminds me of Nin’s diaries.
I’ve also been somewhat blown away by kindness and offers of help. Publishing as an industry is absolutely nuts, but the workers in it–authors, editors, production folk, etc.–are overwhelmingly there because they love the art, and when the bat-signal goes up they are overwhelmingly Ready To Ride To Gondor, Right Effing Now, Saddle Up And Let’s Go. It’s both humbling and comforting.
The coffee is down to chewy dregs and Boxnoggin is beginning to stir. He’s very playful this morning and will need a long ramble, no doubt complete with feral rabbit sightings. I don’t mind them hanging out in our yard, especially if they’ll eat the dandelions, but I do wish they wouldn’t taunt him during walkies. I wonder when the coyotes are going to come uphill for the plump pickings, too. Circle of life, nature red in tooth and claw, and all that.
They’re saying rain later in the week, which will suit me very well. I know plenty of folk love the sunshine, but I could do with some water falling from the sky. Climate change will probably bring us a dry summer; I’m not looking forward to that.
Time to edge cautiously into Tuesday and see what the day has hidden behind its back. Let’s hope for a bouquet, or something equally innocuous…