DP, who eschews coffee, refuses to learn how to use my stovetop espresso maker.
“I know how that will go.”
“What do you mean?”
“Next thing you know, it’ll be ‘DP, darling, sweetheart, love of my life, would you make me a cup of coffee?'”
I deny it, but he might be right. (Shout out to Cougar who makes her spouse stovetop espresso coffee every single day. Lucky Dr. Mr. Cougar.)
Once you know how to do something then you know how to do it. That sounds simple, but it can be harrowing. Last year I revised my whole fucking book in a week.
So when my deadline to send The Fucker to Beta Reader comes screaming at me, I can’t take a powder. I can’t write a short whiny note saying that there is too much snow on the ground to write (also, Beta Reader is Canadian and would laugh in my face).
I gotta rush through and polish that turd. I gotta actually write scenes in the places that currently scream in all caps MAKE A SCENE. I don’t need to majorly reorganize, as I’ve already done that. I don’t need to change my name for anonymity (although that was a fun exercise last time due to the fact that I had to keep my last name somewhat similar so I could make a piano joke halfway through the manuscript).
So, 6,000 edited words a day. I’ve cleared my editorial calendar for a couple days. Grade papers, go to second job, feed dog and self, write up some discussion questions for class, edit 6,000 words, pretend February has 30 days, get it done.
What do you wish you didn’t know how to do? Do you make piano jokes?