I’m rewriting my book.
I know that sounds presumptuously over-reaching and probably overbearingly boorish, but I am and honestly? it was something that I thought I’d hate more than chores, more than work, more than winter.
But I don’t.
I flippin’ love it. Luurrrrve it.
The fast-paced blazingly stripped down first draft that I wrote during NaNoWriMo in November was one thing. That was a sprint. Every night was a hell-bent-for-leather wild-eyed gasping run to the 1700-a-day-word finish line.
But it was fun. It was like the lust of new love what with the constant pounding and eagerness of freshness.
This rewriting stuff is being something waaaaay different.
It’s fuller and slower and rounder. Kinda like sitting in a dark bar with an old friend slowly sipping or maybe spending a long afternoon cuddling in warm sunlight-something like that.
Cool beans…do we get to read it after you’re done cuddling?
Are you kidding?
Everybody on the planet will get a copy.