I’m here at the very end of Nightshifted, working so so so so hard to pull everything off, and I keep muttering and making noises to myself to myself like a person who mutters a lot. My husband was teasing me, asking me what was so wrong — actually, asking, “Is it the boners?” because the thought that people are going to be reading my sex scenes, and indeed this editorial note proves that people who are not me have read them, and ZOMG so embarrassing, so yes, every time there’s sex in my book I just wince and moan and scroll forward (thank god i didn’t get any edit notes in those parts really) — but no! What I’m muttering about are changes that I’m making that *facepalm* I should have made before and narrating how deeply embarrassed that I missed such simple yet important things and shame shame shame, idiot, more shame.
I know I shouldn’t be embarrassed, and I’m not an idiot. Like obviously my editor wants my book to rock — and thinks it rocks already, or she wouldn’t have bought it. And these changes are not that hard, honest. It’s just getting over the having to make them — the fact that I made mistakes (many!) that needed fixing, which makes me wince so damn (audibly) hard.
So every new comment to fix gets an urk, an eesh, or feels like a thwack. It’s like a regular comic book onomatopoeia land over here tonight.