Yesterday I sent the first half of Small Beer Book (thanks, Paul, for the new working title) to the editor. It was freeing. I didn’t have to worry whether it was the best-written piece of prose I have ever wrought. I was pretty sure it was pretty well written and there is an editor (an editor!) who will look at it and make sure I don’t embarrass myself.
Wait, it gets better. I was reasonably sure I put an umlaut on “marzen” beer (not sure how to do that here, SjG, are you reading?) every single time it appeared. But you know what? It didn’t matter, because there is a copyeditor who’s going to fix that for me. A copyeditor who isn’t me!
This writing shit is awesome. Why did no one tell me? Oh, right, it’s because we’re all creative writers laboring for no money, no fame, and no glory.
After this, I’m going to go back to editing, I’m going to start writing the second half of Small Beer Book (but not today), and I’m going to (gulp) go back into the Fucker, the big beer of my writing life, and make it better.
What’s your small beer?