Okay, I admit it.
My own book is starting to bore me. It's not the characterization. It's not the plot. IT'S THE FUCKING TYPOS. And it's not even like there's a lot--in fact, there's just enough for me to doze off while pressing the scroll button, and then, suddenly, shazam. A dumb-assed screw-up that I could have lived years without noticing, but I'm not editing this mess for me, am I? I'm editing it for my dozens (500 at last count...but I'm not counting...501...502...oh, I'm at 12,000 on the amazon.com standings? Don't worry...it won't last...503... 504...22,000, see? I'm sinking back into oblivion where I belong, all is right with the world... but I digress...) of fans. Seriously-- people keep posting on amazon telling me that I'm their favorite author. I'm stunned and humbled and sort of puzzled. There MUST be writers out there with fewer typos who don't use the F-word nearly as often, but it doesn't matter. If even one person loved my books (Lady-in-Red, Roxie, tam-tam--I love you all!!!!) I'd still have to edit to my (admittedly limited) best ability in order to feel good about hitting send on Friday. It's stressing me out.
In fact, besides playing with the kids, the only thing that helps me de-stress from this stress is planning the next book. Go figure.
So I'm blogging to interupt the slow slide into that doze that results in the word QWERTY pressed against my left cheek, because this puppy is due Friday, and Matt even took the kids to the movies to help me. Of course I was scheduled to go with everybody but, true to our chaotic souls, Mate and I (get this, it was a laugh-freakin'-riot!) LOST OUR TICKETS IN THE CAR. There is no explanation for this--Mate and I remember the conversation where we were talking about (oh the irony!) how expensive the tickets were, and Mate had them in his hand as he was doing the math and then we were in the parking lot and they were gone. We're both at a complete loss--especially as we ransacked the crapmobile to see where they went. Honestly, it was like dropping $35 in the toilet and letting Kewyn flush. So anyway, we came home, Mate bought some tickets on Fandango because we no longer trust ourselves to actually hold the damn things in our pockets, and he took the verbal kids (Bye Mom. Bye Kewyn--be good for Dad. I'll be good, Mom.) and I stayed home with the constipated infant. She just won't sleep--it's driving us batshit.
Anyway, everybody's home, adorable constipated infant is screaming, and I've got 190 pages to go. Good night everybody--I'm telling you, when I get this puppy sent, I'm actually going to taste alcohol. Not too much--still nursing--but a glass of wine isn't going to kill either of us...and it will feel very well earned!