I did another round of edits. I sent it off this morning. My editor e-mailed me back and said from this point on, there will be no new writing. And I wanted to say, WAIT! Let me take one more look. Then I realised it's time to let this baby go. It'll never be perfect. It is what it is. It's been with me for five years and I should do other things, write other novels, maybe start dating again.I began running more deligently. I did 8 miles the other day--something I hadn't done in a long time. I can get healthy again.
I'll see galleys--the roughcut in book form--make slight tweaks, then off to the printer. My editor thinks he'll have actual copies by December.
To tell you the truth, I'm kind of scared. I've wanted this journey to end for the last two years. Now, it's coming to a conclusion. Be careful what you wish for.
I feel like a knight in dimming armor, coming home.
5 comments:
so writing books makes you anti-social and unhealthy ?
sounds like my job. lol.
I'm impressed you can just bust out eight miles just like that. I'm still trying to run one mile without dying.
Eight miles? EIGHT miles?! That's "Literary Stamina." And I'd say that makes you a hot commodity in the date department...
I've been a runner from waaaay back. Don't get me wrong. Eight miles takes some effort to spit out.
I've been slacking on the running too. I'd like to blame this on my own writing, but I'm sure my laptop would bitch-slap me.
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