The Postscript
Reality does not always match up with fantasy.
My fantasy, once I finally sold my first novel, was that I would print my book in hard copy (which I never do) and carry it out of my office and go somewhere with it -- maybe a coffee shop!I would sit at a table in a coffee shop and read my manuscript on real paper with a red pen in hand and review it with care while sip - ping my coffee, thoughtfully ed -
iting a chapter or two a day until I was confident that everything
was to my complete satisfaction.
Right. I have finally started work - ing on the first major edits with a wonderful editor who lives in L.A. She is smart and experi enced and no-nonsense, and she gives me lots and lots of notes -- and a one-week deadline to fix
them all.
It's more work than I imag - ined and a lot more stress. Lei - surely trips to the coffee shop are out of the question. Sleeping full nights and getting regular meals are in doubt. I had no idea what to expect because this is, in fact, my very first rodeo.
'Can't you ask for an exten - sion?' someone asked, and, of course, I cannot. I do not want to disappoint this hardworking editor who has taken the time to write all these notes. So I work in my office, often until quite late.
Her notes appear in little bub -
bles at the side of the text. 'This is reading like a sermon,' a note
said.
This was a puzzling obser - vation because the passage she was referring to was, in fact, a sermon. But I gathered from the note that sounding like a sermon (even if it was a sermon) was not a good thing.
So I cut the sermon. It is now a very short sermon. If you were in church, you might think the pastor had come up short of ideas or there was a football game scheduled to start shortly, but that's OK. There's no reason we can't get to the point a little faster.
But much more often -- prob - ably because I write a 600-word column every week -- she wants me to write more. 'Can you tell us more?' she asks. Of course, I can always write more, but it takes time, and I only have a week. There is no coffee shop in sight.
I had forgotten about my cof - fee shop fantasy entirely until yesterday, when I was taking a walk. (I still try to get some ex -
ercise during all of this.) It had finally warmed up enough, and the sidewalk was full of people sitting at little round tables, ei - ther reading or having import -
ant-sounding conversations. I felt a little jealous. And then I felt
silly.
Because I am doing what I've been fantasizing about for so long. It just doesn't look exactly like I thought it would. So I made a promise to myself right then and there.
I will celebrate when I hit 'send' on the next set of revi - sions. I will celebrate when I have written new words, when my editor gives me a thumbs-up, when I've made a small thing bet - ter. The big moments go by too fast, and they are almost never the way I imagine them. But the small moments are happening every day, one after another, and they can be whatever I choose to make them.
Someday, I will have a coffee in that shop I walk by -- with or without a manuscript -- and I will have a small and perfect celebra - tion over nothing at all.
Till next time, Carrie
