Somewhere up there, someone is looking down on me with a smile on their face. Does this mean they're about to laugh at me? Or have I finally managed to earn a bit of goodwill?
Well, it's a mixed bag, really. I still have electrical outages all over my house, including the heat pump, the stove, too many outlets to count, the lights going both upstairs and down to the basement, and the entire basement itself. So yeah, I'm a running joke for someone...but at the same time...as if throwing me a bone in the face of adversity, I managed to score an editor who keeps the same crazy hours as I do.
And let me just say...I love her. I do. I know you're supposed to lie in public and tell the world how much you love your editor, while planning their gruesome death in your next foray into fiction. But not me. I'm not lying when I say, I love her. She hasn't fled the country to escape my quirks, she actually responds when I send her a Facebook chat message (even my own mother ignores me half the time), and she has no qualms with debating the merits of my book, often coming to metaphorical blows when we disagree over key points.
Ok, that's kind of a lie. So far her ideas have been pretty good, and she's managed to pull some of my best work out of me, and hey, that's sorta her job, so yeah...she rocks.
Now, if I could only find away to banish the word, patience from her vocabulary. I have no idea how I'll pull that off.
Until the next time...I'll be waiting for my next round of edits.