So, I've received my first round of edits on Fortune's Fool. I was expecting tears, hair-tearing and tooth-gnashing. Perhaps some wailing and collapsing in a pit moaning, "What was I thinking? How could I possibly have written that dreck?"
What I got wasn't nearly as dramatic.
What I actually found when I opened that file were things that, honestly, you need someone else to catch. By the time you turn a book in, hoping for publication, you've read it so many times that you just can't see the mistakes anymore. You don't see the leaps in logic or plunge into the plot holes. The story's all in your head and you can see what's not on the page.
Your editor can't. Which is why you -- why I -- needed an editor.
I confess that when I got to the comment where she mentioned that she *liked* something that I wrote, I did a little dance. Very little. Three seconds or so. Trust me, we should all be glad it was so brief.
But I'm looking forward to the next round. Does that mean I need therapy? Possibly. But I can't help thinking that each round gets me closer to where I wanted to be when I started to write, and that, my friends, is a very good thing.