So I just got another set of edits on my latest version of DREAMER, and as I’m scrolling through my editor’s notes, I started to get worried.
There weren’t many. I mean, nothing. A word here. A sentence there. Few, and far between.
This is when my stupid insecurities come into play.
Maybe she’s not giving me stuff to change because she’s given up. She just wants this over with so she’s phoning it in.
Maybe they really didn’t read it. Maybe they only skimmed it because I’m not worth the time.
All of those thoughts are ridiculous, and I know in my logical mind they’re ridiculous. My editor’s job is to turn in the best damn book she can and the publisher certainly isn’t going to put a book they’ve ‘given up on’ out on a shelf with their name on it. That’s just lunacy.
And when she read the new chapter I wrote that I thought was so freaking good – she wrote one simple sentence in the margin: This is AMAZING.
But somehow, that wasn’t enough to make me entirely sure that she shouldn’t be writing me tomes about all the stuff that probably still needed to change. What the hell is wrong with me?
The book is good. I know the book is good. And this isn’t a first draft. It’s been revised significantly already. I just can never feel like it’s done. Or good enough. Why?
I let out a sigh of relief when I saw some more meaty rewriting is needed on a chapter near the end, but how crazy is that? I’m glad it wasn’t great? Because that jives with my view of how it should be – not great, but getting there.
I need to accept that I’ve gotten there. Mostly. Not to pat myself on the back, but to stand strong in my love for this book, and the story its characters tell. And I do love it. I love where they’ve all been and who they’ve grown into. So much.
Guess I need to pull up my writer britches and get to work and stop worrying about every little thing.
Me, and every other writer in the world since the beginning of time.