...that I have nothing to say.
Maybe some of you wonder about the exciting life of an author? Well, it's been almost a week since my last post and there's really nothing to tell you. I'm in the thick of Skinners 3, happy with it one moment, worried about it the next, relieved another moment after that and then fretting about how I'm going to wrap it up in under 1000 pages.
Pretty much par for the course.
I take some solace in knowing I felt this way during Skinners 2 and I just got done with those copy edits to wind up pretty happy with it. Does that sentence structure make sense? I don't care. There are things I want to put into this book and others that should get cut. I'm nowhere near finished, so there's plenty of time to dress it all up. The first draft is what it must be like to put a movie together using an editing machine. You look at each scene frame by frame, so one conversation feels like it took about sixteen hours. When I read it through again at a normal pace, it'll seem better and if it doesn't, it gets whipped into submission. If that don't work, it gets the hose again. Put the lotion in the f---ing basket!!
Sorry. Went a little Buffalo Bill there. Have I watched Silence of the Lambs lately?
I need to sleep.
Oh yeah, I can't sleep because I can't stop thinking about Book 3.
Yowza.
