In which Rolanni is under the weather

[rolanni]

The trees of Maine have initiated their annual assassination proceedings.  The good news is, if I manage to outlast them, as I have for the last twenty-three seasons, I’m safe from their nefarious attentions for another year.

Catching up yesterday, for those who don’t do Facebook:  Steve and I arose at an Unreasonably Early Hour, went to the lab and saw the echocardiogram done.  The promise from the tech was that the doctor would read the results that day, and if there was any problem, would call us immediately.  Otherwise, we should get the results in two to three days.  (Jumping ahead — there was no immediate call from the doctor, so — yay.)

That chore out of the way, we retired to Eric’s for breakfast, thence to the post office, where a royalty check for slightly less than the cost of breakfast awaited (my last such check from Fictionwise), and finally to the grocery store.  Arriving home, I found the galleys for the Ghost Ship mass market paperback my inbox, with a turnaround time of before we leave for Kansas City next week, so that’s what I’ve been putzing along at , with frequent breaks for naps.

In my spare time, I’ve been reading The Prestige by Christopher Priest.  I can’t recall the last time the structure of a novel has annoyed me so much.  Happily, Mr. Priest writes a clean hand, so I don’t doubt I’ll finish reading, but I suspect that this may be one of those very rare cases where I prefer the movie to the novel.

Tomorrow, we again arise before dawn, this time to take Socks to the vet for his post-dental-work check-up and, hopefully, his rabies shot. We’ll return to the Metropolis later in the day to get haircuts, which,  in my case at least, is about three weeks overdue.  Got a definite hedgehog look going…

In between those two necessary events, I’ll be right here, reading galleys.

 

Originally published at Sharon Lee, Writer. You can comment here or there.

Comments

[rolanni.livejournal.com]

I do understand that this is not the time to be involved with "Fixing Story;" was just curious if you wished you could.

Ah, I see.

Generally, I don't tend to loathe my old stuff to the extent reported by others of my colleagues. This may have to do with the fact that very often I (really and truly) don't remember what I've written until I read it next day.

By the time we get to proofreading galleys, the whole project feels like it was written (1) some time ago, and (2) by someone who is not quite me/us.

I suspect this makes it easier to be objective, and to forgive the foibles of "another" writer.

Others of my colleagues report a difficulty letting a story "go" and sending it on to the next stage, believing that the work still needs to be refined. Of course, they do let it go, because -- deadline. Also D&A money.

Historically, I'm pretty well sick of a project by the time it needs to go, and am happy to send it along. Also, I do know -- I think we all do know -- that you can only write the best book you're capable of this time, given the constraints of time, talent, real life, and a dozen other variables, and that more time to tinker doesn't necessarily equate to a better book.

Edited for apostrophe failure.