My contrite new editor told me that I should be getting my revision letter by the end of this week. (This weekend, she's at a writer's conference somewhere else in Texas--along with Sean and Stephanie, who'll hopefully fill me in.) Anyway, Deborah is speaking with Michael Stearns, whose work I adore. Nice guy, too.
The truth is that it was kind of a relief having some time to enjoy WriteFest and bask in the sale before digging back in. Plus, with my father's death, I haven't really been emotionally up to writing fiction this past month, and, in any case, the related logistical responsibilities wouldn't allow it.
Now, though, I'm looking forward to sinking back into that world. I made a few shuffling gestures over the past few days, getting my notes together, etc. Reminding myself of the back story that is unknown to my protagonist, the kind of detail that adds dimension and believability.
Planning like any good, little O-C author... I'm tempted to handle the whole thing ritualistically. You know, curl up with the letter on the day bed in the sun room, put on a creepish music CD, reread the entire mss as is and then study the letter. Yeah, that sounds just right.
Hm. I better get in gear and order some new creepish music for delivery or, better yet, cruise over to Waterloo Records and just start shopping.
