Spent the week marking spots in the printout and writing up a storm of edit notes on the draft, and finished that Friday night. Did I mention I hate developmental edits? Yes? Once or twice? Fair enough.
The muse hates edits, too, btw. Possibly even more than me. She went on vacation somewhere and told me to call her when I’m ready to continue writing BWB. Screw her. I can at least take the weekend off. It started as a bit of procrastination, but actually, turning the brain off and playing with wood and drills and the circular saw (No, I’m not dismembering my editor, just building a deck planter.) gives me just enough creative juice back to think up solutions for some knotty problems. There are the clear demands of the letter of edits (more of this, less of that). But there are also murkier thoughts and the uneasy weighing of the demands of the story against the demands of the market. It can feel a bit like Indy trying to make it through the Temple of Doom. 😉 I’m sure there’s another, longer blog post in that, but that one needs a bit more detachment and percolation.
So, for now, the printout sits on my desk along a pile of edit notes awaiting Monday, a long sigh, a self-motivating kick in the posterior, and buckets of coffee.
