Once upon a time, being published sounded so easy. It was fun - the book was done, people bought it, end of story. Until the next. I'm on the next. It's not fun. Re-reading Sex & Subterfuge I realized the middle sucked. It was stilted, awkward, tedious, you name it, it was it. Except for exciting. It most definitely not exciting. It's now on the cutting room floor, so to speak, and I'm rewriting it.
Did I mention it's due January 15?
Yeah.
Stupid edits. Make me realize how awful my story is.
Back to the grind. I'm not getting any sleep tonight.
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