Bloodshot

It is Friday night (about 9:30 as I write this) and I have just completed a harrowing day of reading my book manuscript twice. That's 440 pages of line-by-line editing and rewrites. I started early, about 7 a.m. after I returned from a brief workout at the gym. With the exception of a few phone calls, a walk outside to get the mail and breath some fresh air, and a quick trip to the grocery, my nose was pressed to paper for nearly twelve hours. My hands are covered in ink.

Throughout the day I got emails and voice mails from two of the editors on this book. They called and wrote to spur me onward . . . kind of like a jockey whipping the backside of a race horse down the homestretch. Maybe they were trying to be funny. But I made my deadline, early in fact, by almost a month. I hate crossing the finish line by a nose. I go full bore and cross by a full length or I don't run. And yes, my butt is sore from all the sitting and straining. My eyes are bloodshot. I'm dog tired. Maybe those guys did whip me after all.

Finally, as I prepare to lay me down to sleep, I checked my emails one last time. I had a rejection from The New Yorker magazine (but what else is new?) and a rejection from a science fiction magazine (their loss!). But after a full day of reading and writing, I really don't give a dip.