I finished draft five of the mariachi book. I cut ten pages and it's still longer than any of my previous books.
Editing and revision are curious times in a book's life. I could've sworn that the book was done, er, two drafts ago. But then after reading my husband's editorial notes, I found scenes that had once seemed crucial to the life of the story. They were just dead weight and sadly, with some really beautiful sentences, had to go.
But my gut tells me that this newly shorn version is the one that I'll send to my agent. I'm already missing my characters, which is a sign that they have gone on with their lives and want nothing more to do with me and my God complex.
Sigh. Like a college freshman is to her parents, this book is no longer mine. It now belongs to the readers and while I love it when you guys enjoy my books, there's a possessive voice in my head that says, "But it was mine first!"
Hey, it could be worse, right?
Now I have to decide which new story idea to write!