My manuscript was due by noon on Friday, but I knew like a good freelancer that I should probably have it in a few hours before that. On Thursday I came home from work, scooped up the dog and my laptop, and edited from bed as if I were Edith Wharton. Mr. Dog did not participate in the editing process, but merely snoozed against my leg. Ms. Wharton probably would have been appalled, but I don’t care. He is a soothing (and warm) presence.
I completely rearranged my sticking-out-like-a-sore-thumb section, and moved one chapterlet to the beginning. I had a brief moment of panic where I thought maybe I would do that again on Friday, and vowed to give myself enough time to rearrange everything once. (It turns out that this was foolish and unnecessary.) I did not sleep so well Thursday night.
Friday, I got up bright and early. I started to reread and decided I just couldn’t. There was no time, and I did not have another edit within me. So I converted my Scrivener document to Word. This tends to fuck up my tabs, so I scanned the whole document for misspellings, repeated words, and extra tabs. This turned out to be an excellent thing to do. I felt as if I were rereading, when really I was just scanning it. It allowed me to correct a few misspellings and sentence meltdowns. The manuscript was as clean as it could be.
I wrote the worst synopsis ever, and sent the whole thing in. Then I went to work. Then I came home and went to a Literary Event where DP was reading. Then I spent all Saturday in bed. Today I have my voice somewhat back; I can look at my computer without wanting to die; and I might even leave the house.
I feel pretty good about the manuscript, mostly because I haven’t looked at it again. And I really did do all I could in a one-week span. Even if I hadn’t been traveling, I don’t think I could have worked harder on it. Among other things, I would have had to go to work, and I might have felt like I needed to do the dishes or something else around the house. There are no dishes on the road.