Especially when you thought you’d already completed it a few times. I’m back to the first book, because I just can’t see putting Eve in a drawer for eternity, even though Donte’s and Taro’s books are a thousand times better. (not to mention barely more than a fourth the size…I won’t mention it if you won’t.)
Right now I’m editing with a machete. When I’ve got it down to only what really, truly, needs to be there, the plan is to patch it together, do a rolling re-write for smoothness, and send it off.
I need to quit smoking again. But with CPS in my life YET AGAIN–amazing how those three letters, put together and capitalized, send me right into a quivering fetal position. Or not so amazing, as I definitely put a lot of the blame for Chris’ death at their door. Anyway. Seems some folks in my supposedly safe place (grief and loss group) have a problem with Hope showing up for group dirty and without a jacket. Even after I explained that we don’t go home on group nights, we get dinner and go. And if she leaves all seven jackets/sweaters/sweatshirts at school, she needs to learn that forgetting things makes for discomfort. Last I checked, colds are caused by a virus, not by being cold.
Also, playing in mud puddles when at least five adults asked you to stop, will result in being dirty. Deal with it. Who learns to stay out of mud puddles by staying out of mud puddles?
A six-year-old tomboy dirty and jacketless. God forbid, it’s amazing she hasn’t dropped over dead yet. Get a life, people. Go find someone locking a five-year-old in a crib. Do something about the bright eighth grader who comes to school twice a month. Or the tiny little maybe-eight-year-old I see walking half a mile alone to school every morning, down the busiest street Tucson has. Or the sixth grader whose stepdad sent her to school with pot to sell to her friends.
On second thought–taking a machete to something is very satisfying.