Red ink flows as during a Bibilical plague

1 Sep

Tom Auclair is reading “Thrown.”

I am a wreck.

Note the grim set of his mouth, the flashing, laser-sharp eyes gleefully scanning for errors, the red pen poised to attack like a sabre. He even wears the shirt of a Red Sox pitcher, as though he is ready to decimate the opposition—my manuscript.

I sit next to him and hear the pen’s scratches, like fingernails of the condemned on dungeon walls.


So maybe it’s not all that bad, and to tell the truth, it was exhilarating to pick up the box of my printed book from FedEx/Kinkos. In fact, I actually squealed as I left (well out of earshot of the FedEx/Kinkos staff), and had to pull out random pages to read when I got in my car. I felt so…authorly. I HAD A WHOLE BOX OF PAPERS, ALL OF THEM COVERED WITH WORDS THAT I PUT THERE! How cool is that?

(Okay, Tom is writing something long. I daren’t look. But what could he be writing? I don’t think he’s made it past the first page! I’ve never taken a sedative in my life, but perhaps now is the time?)

So Tom has the first printed copy of the official second draft, and I emailed one to Hal (see “Icebreaker” post) and will get a hard copy to my friend in California, Elizabeth, who is both a writer and a fast reader. My manuscript has left the nest to be scrutinized by friendly eyes that want me to succeed. But boy oh boy, am I on pins and needles now!

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