I finished my book.

Last week in fact. I was so happy. I added some dialog, fixed my flow, changed a few run-on’s, deleted parts, added parts, and now I’m done. I’ve never been more thrilled at anything before. So proud of myself.

Then I re-read it. And re-read it again. And again and again. Four times, I re-read it and I’m thinking of reading it again, because every time I re-read it I find something I missed the first three times. I think I’m good, but the urge to read it again is strong. Perhaps I should trust in four-fold editing process. I should. Right?

I will, because I still have to “get it to market”, and I can’t do that with it sitting here. So I will trust that my re-edits are good. I mean, four times? C’mon!

I do have time I believe. I want to wait until the new Writer’s Yearbook comes out, which should be soon. I get my hands on that, I’m off. In the mean time, it wouldn’t hurt if I read it again. Would it?

No, I won’t. It’s good the way it is, even if I have to keep hitting myself over the head to remind me that it is. I will, dammit! It’ll hurt, but I’ve got a hard head, so no worries.

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