Sitting at Starbucks with my novel in front of me. It’s mocking me. It refuses to be edited. It likes itself just the way it is and thinks I’m just being nit-picky. I told it that edits aren’t to be feared, but rather they should embraced. “All people, real or imaginary, can find ways to improve,” I told it. In response, the characters threatened a massive walkout! I countered with hints of a new mass-murder scene. They quieted while giving me looks of grumbling acquiescence, knowing I held their very lives in the tip of my red pen. The book itself is continuing it’s futile resistance to my efforts. However, my inner editor WILL prevail over these 300 pages and come hell or high water it WILL be a publishable book by the end of this quarter!

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