And I Live to Tell the Tale

My first round of edits are done.

Whew.

My fiendishly clever editor has already pulled a better version of my story out of me, and made it feel like really good sex.

The kind you have in five minutes or less because you're both supposed to be somewhere else right then. You know what I'm talking about. When it's hot and almost painfully brutal up against the fridge...and by the time you're done the upstairs neighbors are thumping on their floor cause you both had screaming --heavy emphasis on the screaming--orgasmns? And 5/8 of the magnets you normally use to hold reminder notes and such to the door of said fridge are all over the floor and you're running back out the door to get somewhere with your shirt on backwards or inside out and your button-fly jeans are buttoned wrong and it doesn't matter that you're late to your gig with Matt Nathanson (no, really...you can ask Matt) because the whole fucking world just kinda glows?

No?

Maybe that's just me.

So...I love my editor. Cause everything we do together makes me get that glowy feeling at the end.

Yeah.

My first round of edits are done.