The good, even great, news is that I have the editing suggestions sitting in front of me, and I now have a very good chance of meeting all my targets for publication. The drawback is that I now have the very good chance of meeting all my targets for publication as long as I do some work.
I've been trying to do that for a couple of days. All those times my darling has walked into the room and interrupted by blank stare at the television that isn't allowed to be turned on during the day anymore, that's when I'm working at editing.
The times when I walk into the garden for a break, and then forget to come back inside, I'm working at editing.
When I wander into the front room to choose a new outfit to combat the intrusively hot weather which really should come equipped with a swimming pool, and then try on all my clothing to see which pieces no longer fit, I'm editing.
If you were my editor I'd say it's going really well. If you're a potential consumer for my book I'd be worried.
When I'm at real-paying-job-work I smile and laugh about my errors to display to everyone that it's okay to be wrong sometimes. Inside, I'm growing a lump of self-hatred at the thought that I mucked something up, and a matching lump of outward-hatred towards whoever picked the error up. That gets really complicated when I pick up my own errors.
Part of this is being an introvert and under the pre-programmed expectation that everyone is going to laugh at me. This is why I don't talk to strangers at the airport, or friends at parties. To my introverted eyes everyone is poised to find anything I say, do, think or feel is hilariously out of step with societal norms.
Some may say I'm sensitive. Some may say I'm touched. I won't say anything, because I might be wrong and then you'll laugh at me and exclude me from the herd.
And do you know why I've spent so long telling you about my personal insecurities on the blog tonight?
Yip, you guessed it!
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