“Harder than learning to fly an airplane?” He asked. “Harder than kayaking the Grand Canyon?”
He looked at me skeptically. I told him that today, as I start on my third, and hopefully, final, revision of my manuscript, it will take a great force of will to sit at my computer and face these necessary changes. My editor has given me the gift of a close line edit. This is wonderful. This is fantastic. This is the worst news I’ve had in weeks.
John didn’t understand.
I guess, deep down inside, I was hoping that this last round of revisions would be cursory. It would be practically unnecessary–just a few minor typos here and there and a line or two of revision, and voila! Next stop, galley proofs.
But the road to publication is long. I’ve said this before. It takes multiple rounds of revision, several attempts of coaxing words and sentences into just the right sequence, literally hours with my head in my hands, massaging the pain from between my eyes, full minutes of time staring out my window at the rhythm of snowflakes falling against the already tall piles of snow in the driveway.
And all I really want to do is go outside and breathe.
But instead, I’m here at my computer working (okay, I’m posting on my blog, which is very, very close to working). And I’m grateful to my editor. In the present world of book publication, where publishers no longer edit, promote or do much else for your book, I’m blessed with a publisher doing all that. So I should be happy, right? I should be ecstatic.
And I am. Really.
I’m just mostly glad that, as I look out my window at Crystal Mountain, it’s not a powder day I’m missing out there.