We are off topic, yet again. Something about husbands, housework or hot flashes. Can we really ever be off topic when these are the mainstays upon which we write?
“You know we’ve only managed to get in about twelve hours of editing this week,” Lisa contends.
“Seriously?” I say, with incredulity and more than a little despondency.
“Well, maybe fifteen hours.”
Was she serious? “Seems like forty.”
We resume editing. The last few pages are grueling; uncharted territory compared to the early stuff we’ve gone over with a fine tooth comb. Then comes the moment when it is apparent we might actually finish. Yet again.
It’s one thing to type “The End” to a story (figuratively, of course, it would throw off the word count otherwise). It’s another thing to say, “It’s ready for show and tell.” It’s ready for the big show. It’s ready for prime time.
Actually, “it’s” Will Steal for Shoes and it’s ready for round one of critiquing. By a couple of carefully hand-selected people who shall remain anonymous. We don’t want you thinking the fate of our literary lives is in your hands – no pressure. Noooo pressure whatsoever.
Sure, it’s a big hairy deal to us, but we know we’re far from done. (Come to think of it, we haven’t even celebrated yet. Hmm, I wonder what this means?) Maybe because we know in our hearts it’s not finished until it’s published, and even then people had better buy it. And read it. And like us, darn it all. This is not a threat, but it may be a veiled warning. And don’t even think about changing that blog channel, missy.