Coping

Like most Americans, I've had an emotional roller coaster of a week. There's been an awful lot of awful. I've gone back and forth, through shock, mourning, anger, helplessness, fascination, rage, grief, and the occasional smile at the spirit of us as a people to keep getting back up when we get knocked down. It's been hard.

I wanted to share my love and pain for the city of Boston. My mom grew up there, and I spent summers as a child there. I have family there. I love the city. I even made it my Main Character's home.

Then there is the tragic explosion in Texas. And the failure of Congress to pass legislation to regulate the sales of firearms. And a dozen other little things, some personal and some national, that have worn on me all week, to the point where I don't know whether to shit or go bowling, as Helper Monkey likes to say.

I've decided to go bowling. Not really, but I've decided I need a brain-breather. I've also decided I won't feel guilty about not being able to handle any more news right now. I just want five minutes that isn't about a tragedy. I need to smile for a few seconds right now.

To that end, here are a few funny telling snippets from my life. Maybe they'll give you a few seconds to smile, too.

Helper Monkey and I went to the grocery store today. On the way home, we were telling bad jokes. Like, How do you recognize a dogwood tree? By its bark. *insert rimshot here* This "joke" was met with derision rather than giggles, so I moved on.

A minute or two later, I told an ACTUALLY funny joke, which cracked me up so hard it apparently drove said funny thing out of my head forever. I'll ask Helper Monkey if he remembers what it was, so I can tell y'all. Until then, you'll have to pretend to laugh at the dogwood joke. Why is it always the best lines that evaporate into mental steam the moment you decide they'd make a great tweet?

Last week, Helper Monkey and I were watching Jeopardy! (remember, it's not spelled correctly without the bang!), and were incensed that none of the contestants could name the "alliterative Mongol leader." Because there were obviously so freaking many of them! Name all the Mongol leaders you can. I'll give you five seconds, and GO!

Right? I bet you got Genghis Khan, for sure. I really do hope you also knew Kublai Khan, as well. And lookie there! Alliteration! And that exhausted my knowledge of Mongol leaders. It's not like there are a confusing jumble of popular Khans to choose from. (shakes fist at sky, "KHAAAAAAAN")

In our indignation, we invented a brother for Kublai Khan. The outcast and rather reviled Kenny Khan, purveyor of dubious-quality second-hand yurts. He offers free valet yak parking, and is happy to toast your new home purchase with a cup of koumis. (Helper Monkey's dramatization of Kenny Khan was done, for reasons unknown, in a Brooklyn accent, but it was somehow funnier that way.)

(In case you don't know, a yurt is a portable tent-like home, and koumis is a common alcoholic drink in Mongolia, made from fermented mare's milk. You're welcome.)

Also, someone should reimagine the poem "Kublai Khan" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (which is one of my favorites ever), as "Kenny Khan"

In Xanadu did Kenny Khan
A stately pleasure dome decree,
Where Ralph, the yak valet will run
through yurt-fields measureless to man
down to the Sunless C.

*I'd have to explain that the Sunless C is actually a yurt model guaranteed not to let in one bit of outside light, let alone rain water or the frigid sub-Siberian winds. It is their Number One Seller, after all! It's larger than the Sunless B, but lacks some of the luxury features of the Sunless D. Kenny's ad campaign bills it as "The Pleasure Dome of Family Yurts."

And now I've run out of smiles. If you'd like an extended distraction, please feel free to finish Kenny's story in poetry. If anyone takes me up on the challenge, I'd love to read the results.

Just remember, it's okay to want to look away for a while. We aren't obligated to torture ourselves, we aren't bad people for suffering 24-hour-news-cycle-fatigue. We all need to step away once in a while. I planned to write tonight. I think I need the distraction. I will not allow myself to feel that the rest of the world will fall apart (any more than it has already) if my eyeballs aren't glued to the news.

Admitting to being a writer.

I considered titling this "Confessing to being a writer," but I think "admitting" is better. I'm not ashamed of writing, but telling other people how I spend my days invites a series of inquiries that I find horribly frustrating. After telling a few folks last night that I'm a writer, I found myself delivering the inevitable lecture about the realities of writing and publishing. I bet all the writers reading this are nodding their heads right now.

If you're not a writer, or are new to writing, here are a few informational pointers. This is intended in the spirit of loving human compassion, so I apologize in advance if parts (or vast swaths) seem to be coming from a place of snarkiness. I will keep reminding myself that not only is this information not generally known to the non-publishing public, most of this info was completely unknown to me until I'd written my first novel and began researching how to get published, just under two years ago.

The first question I get when I tell people I'm a writer (because I am, I write things, like whole book length things, 100k word novels) is invariably some variation on this sentiment: OH! WHAT HAVE YOU WRITTEN? HAVE I READ IT? WHERE CAN I BUY IT RIGHT NOW? HOW MANY BOOKS HAVE YOU SOLD?

My response at this point is usually to turn red, stutter, and admit I've never sold a single book. This is the hardest admission for a writer, because the other person, who moments ago was all eager like a puppy with a new toy, will slump back and instantly lose about 90% of their interest in you. I mean, why wouldn't they lose interest? A second ago, at least in their minds, you were a Big Time Author, and now you're just a kook who writes stuff. A loser. At least, that's how it feels sometimes. And then I remind myself that they're only responding with disappointment because they don't know what it actually takes to write, edit, find an agent, find a publisher, edit some more, and then publish a successful novel.

After my admission, a common follow-up question is: OH, THEN HAVE YOU EVEN WRITTEN A WHOLE BOOK YET?! Because obviously, if I'd gone ahead and FINISHED a book, it would've been published by now. Riiiiight.

Again, my reply makes me feel even smaller. I have to tell them that I've written five complete novels, and I'm working on a sixth. For me, this is the most terrifying, horrifying thing to admit to anyone outside the writing and publishing world. I can see the pity filling their eyes. I just know they're thinking, "Oh, your poor, sad little creature. FIVE WHOLE NOVELS SO SPECTACULARLY BAD YOU'VE FAILED TO SELL A SINGLE COPY OF A BOOK EVER." I then imagine them patting my head like a three-year-old who just admitted in public, repeatedly, in a very loud voice, usually in mixed company, that they made poo poo in the toilet. Yeah. That's kind of how it feels.

And then I feel I have to justify myself. More on this in a moment. But first, I usually give a little lecture about the Realities of Publishing. You may find these tidbits comforting next time you find yourself in this situation, on either side of this little drama (as the writer or as the non-writer).

• Just because you've written a WONDERFUL, GLORIOUS NOVEL doesn't mean it gets published and hits the NYT bestseller list by the following Monday. Even the most famous writers have to wait for their publication window to roll around. It can take years. Literally.
• You don't just write that MASTERPIECE OF LITACHER and then pick an agent out of the phone book to represent you. You don't hire an agent like you'd hire an employee. It's a weird hybrid sort of position, where you kind of hire each other. You apply to agents like someone seeking a job, send a resume (in publishing this is known as a query letter) that details your book and a bit about you. Then the agent reads your stuff, and decides whether or not they want you as a client. After a little back and forth, it's still up to you whether or not you want to hire the agent.
• There are 46 bazillion writers in the universe. (*note: this might be a slight exaggeration, but probably not) A fair portion of them are seeking representation through an agent. There are only a few thousand literary agents, and substantially fewer who even represent the genre any given writer...writes. There is a lot of competition. It's also not a quick process. It can take months between finishing the novel, querying, and hearing back from agents who are interested. This is also the worst time to field questions from people about how your writing is going. We feel adrift at sea already, and need to be peeled off the ceiling every time the phone rings or the email alert chimes. This is when those withering looks of pity and assumptions of our failures sting the most.
• There are sometimes questions about why I haven't gone ahead and self-published by now. I mean, really. It's so easy nowadays, right? Just stick it up on Amazon or the like, and BOOM. Instant bestseller, right? Not exactly. There are thousands of self-published books being released into the universe every single day. Unless I have the time, money, and resources to spend marketing and promoting my book (which would be as much work as a full-time job, by the way), then it would likely sell a few copies to my friends and then fizzle out of existence. I want to make writing a life-long career. The goal isn't to produce a single novel that dies in obscurity just to see my name in print. I'm in no hurry. While self-pub might be the perfect option for someone else, I would be a total failure at it. I just don't have the business-marketing-promotional skills.
• The people who ask these questions are not deliberately trying to be hurtful. They just don't know what goes into writing and publishing a successful novel. Be kind, and educate them a bit. They might turn out to be your most ardent supporters down the line!

Okay, then. Back to my justification. Five novels and not one sold? Wow, you must be a terrible writer.

No, not really, but the first two were my "practice novels," written before I learned anything about the realities of the book market. They taught me how to be a better writer. I never sought publication for them. Maybe someday, after they've been completely rewritten, but for now they live under my bed, where the world is safe from them.

Okay, but what about the other three? They're not good enough to sell, either?

Well, considering they are a SERIES, I can't sell the second two until after the first one is published. I haven't been querying the first one for the last several months. I've had some positive responses, but in the end, I was told it wasn't quite ready yet.

Then I had a revelation. One agent told me they wanted to know more about the characters. There were hints in the story about a really interesting history, a looooooong backstory. She wanted to read THAT novel, about that history. *insert flashing light bulb here* So I started writing it. I'm now about half way through that draft, but it will need editing and critiquing from my writing friends before I send it out. Maybe six weeks of work, if I get this draft done soon!

*cue renewal of interest in my writing* OH! So you're not a TOTAL failure, yet. Right? There's still hope for you?

Nope. I will only ever be a failure if I quit trying. I REPEAT: I WILL ONLY EVER BE A FAILURE IF I QUIT TRYING.

So there. Have any of you had this conversation before? How did you deal with it? Because I was double-teamed on it last night. One of the participants in the conversation had known about my writing since last summer. She assumed I'd been long-published by now, and was mildly disappointed that I wasn't. The other person learned of my writing for the first time, so he was a little less disappointed in my lack of publishing credits, but I still felt the sting. Consider this post my way of dealing with their double-whammy. :)

Bully for you

When Lulu was in kindergarten, she came home from school one day with a Blue Slip. Blue Slips were filled out for disciplinary actions, and were just about the worst thing a kid could get before they started calling parents in for conferences and handing out detentions/suspensions. Needless to say, I was shocked and horrified. MY CHILD?! A behavior problem? Surely not. There must be some mistake.

Turns out, a little boy on the playground took a swing at her, so she used her kung fu training (she came to class with me four times a week), and delivered a textbook mountain punch to the kid's gut. I asked if she was okay, was she hurt when the kid punched her, and she said, "Of course not. I ducked."

It took all my Supermommy power to keep from cracking up at her response. She'd obviously been paying more attention than I'd thought in kung fu. We talked about how it's not okay to hit someone, even if they tried to hit you first. We talked about appropriate responses to anyone who hurt you, whether with words or actions or physical violence. I thought we had this covered. I was wrong.

Lulu's in 7th grade now, and she barely even remembers the incident with Punchy McSluggerton way back in kindergarten. Until yesterday, I thought she'd at least remember the lessons we talked about back then, and over the years in between. It seems that every year the school sends home letters about bullying, how the school has a zero tolerance policy for dealing with bullies, and how they are having assemblies to deal with the topic, and class time dedicated to talking about it. It sounded to me like the teachers were all over this issue, looking to nip any sort of aggressive behavior in the bud. Once again, I was wrong.

She'd been a straight-A student, especially excelling in English class. This year her honors level class only has 16 students (which is a near miracle when most of her other classes have upwards of 30 students each). So you can imagine my surprise when she's bringing home consistent C's. I thought she must not like her teacher. Maybe she didn't care for the poetry assignments (always my own least favorite English class unit). I couldn't fault her for that. But then she was getting dinged for not turning in classwork. She'd been in class, so why didn't she turn in the work? She'd done it perfectly. I couldn't understand, and I was beginning to think she might have some sort of problem with her memory. I was considering taking her to the doctor to ensure she hadn't sustained some sort of head injury. I couldn't think of any other way to explain her sudden memory lapses, her refusal to talk to me about why she wasn't turning things in, and why she wasn't able to focus in class.

Yesterday she reached her breaking point, and finally told us what was bothering her. Or, more specifically, WHO was bothering her.

Let me be clear, I am an involved parent. I volunteer with her Girl Scout troop on a near-continuous basis. I know half the kids at her school, and most of them know me. I am The Library Lady, and everyone from her old elementary school knows me. I have asked her on numerous occasions if she's seen any incidences of bullying at school, and she's told me about a few things she's seen happening with other kids. I thought we had this covered. But we really didn't.

After she told me everything that had been going on, essentially since the beginning of school back in August, I was heartbroken. "Why didn't you tell us about this? Why would you let this go on so long?"

She looked me in the eye and told me she didn't say anything because what could we do? What the kid was doing to her was not bullying, so she couldn't do anything to stop it.

Go back now, reread that last sentence. I'll wait right here.

Done? Are you as shocked as I am? Everything she described to us, from him deliberately knocking things off her desk every time he walked past, to telling her to "shut up" on a daily basis, to making faces at her in class, to recruiting a group of girls to laugh at her, THESE ARE ALL THE THINGS SHE'S BEEN TAUGHT ARE BULLYING BEHAVIORS, AND SHE STILL DIDN'T THINK SHE WAS BEING BULLIED. SHE THOUGHT SHE JUST HAD TO DEAL WITH IT.

She knew teachers had seen this behavior, and because they did nothing to stop it, she assumed she just had to live with it. Despite all the talk about bullying at school and how to deal with it, despite her strong group of friends, despite all the Girl Power lectures, despite our repeated conversations at home about how she should never let anyone make her feel lesser, she thought this treatment was somehow either deserved or something she had no power to stop.

*pauses to sob*

This is what I'm having the hardest time understanding. My daughter knows what bullying is. She can tell you right away when she sees it happening to someone else. She supports her friends when they're going through frustrating situations like the one that's been bothering her. She has always been told that she should NEVER put up with anyone who makes her feel small in any way. In theory, she carries this knowledge with her all the time. I have no idea how to remind her of that when she's feeling alone, hurt, and defenseless, and I'm not there.

This is why we rely on the teachers we entrust our children to every day. I handed her over, in the hopes no teacher would permit any student to belittle another student in her class. I am so disappointed in this entire situation. Disappointed in myself for not pushing for more answers when I saw my child struggling with her grades. Disappointed in the teachers and school staff for not holding her tormentor accountable for his actions. Disappointed in the other kids, some of whom I know personally, for not only doing nothing to stop it, but sometimes participating in it and encouraging it. Disappointed in my kid, for not thinking she had the right to stand up for herself and seek help from any adult within shouting distance the moment another child said or did something that made her uncomfortable. And disappointed that despite all the training and speeches they give the kids at school, she STILL felt as if she were the one in the wrong for feeling upset by another child's abusive behavior.

I am at a complete loss. What could I have done differently? I know there's no way to shield someone 100% from bad feelings. There are always going to be jerks in the world. I just wish I knew how to give her the tools she can use to defend herself. Hopefully this will be a good practical learning experience. It's the best outcome I can hope for at this point.

I spoke to the guidance counselor at school this morning, and I'm waiting to hear back from her on how they intend to deal with this. I am at a complete loss. I don't know what more I can do, other than to constantly remind her that she is awesome, and that nobody is allowed to make her feel otherwise.

***UPDATE: Two sides to every story***

I heard back from the school today, and it turns out Lulu is just as responsible for the bad behavior as the kid who made her feel bad. And you know what, *I* might be partially responsible for it. Let me explain.

Lulu has a few words that really bug her. Pet peeve words. Apparently the boy who teases her has a favorite word, which is at the TOP of the list of Lulu's despised words. That word: Swag.

This kid is the king of swag. He loves the word, and applies it to himself regularly (as 13-year-old boys are wont to do). Every time Lulu hears it, she yells back "Yes, you are curtains." She's had it with swag, YOLO, and half a dozen other irritating catch phrase words, and she inherited a large dose of snark from both me and her father. Her friends think we're funny when we tease each other back and forth, but a kid who doesn't know she's just playing around, just trying to be silly, would likely take those comments the wrong way.

So we have a lovely opportunity to remind her that teasing someone for their word choices is also bullying. I might correct her usage and vocabulary at home, but that doesn't mean she's allowed to make fun of others for using words she doesn't like. Unless someone's words are derogatory or hurtful in some way, just let everyone else be.

So there you go. I feel like kind of a jerk for getting all bent out of shape yesterday, now that I know this whole situation started because of something she said herself. I'm not saying she's entirely to blame, but I know that she's at least 50% responsible for it. She's definitely responsible for letting it escalate to the point where it's interfering with her school work, for not saying anything sooner. There will be a big discussion tonight.

I Murdered Gary (my kindle) and Other Tales of Horror

Our camping weekend at Hersheypark was a lot of fun. There was this:

Luckily he didn't show up at our camp site to make s'mores.

Since it's Hersheypark in the Dark, here's the Wildcat all lit up. Roller coasters in the dark! It was awesome!

There was chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate. And roller coasters. All of this was very, very good. Camping in the near-freezing cold wasn't bad, either. Once the thunderstorms died down. Luckily we were at Chocolate World during the worst of the weather. And I don't think I'd care if it were raining tarantulas if I were indoors at a place called Chocolate World. Am I right?

So, back to camp. Where everything started going sideways. First, there's Gary. Poor, dearly departed Gary! I'm crying in my soup! Here's his memorial photograph:

I laid down in the dark the other night, and had Gary in my hand. Before my head even hit the pillow, I heard a snapping noise, which was apparently my thumb crushing his poor little screen. I could just die, and you can bury me alongside dearest Gary. RIP, Gary. You will be missed.

It's hard to believe things get worse than that, but they do.

They have EXTREMELY SPECIFIC speed limits in Hershey.

We got up early today, packed up, and my BRAND NEW sleeping pad got doused with soda. It's sticky and stained now. I haven't even used it yet. Not to mention the inside of the tent that was also soda-soaked.

The worst thing was that after everything else, my car did not start this morning. Laden with gear and girl scouts, on a SUNDAY, getting someone to come help with my truck was nearly impossible. Thank goodness for OnStar, because they worked their bottoms off trying to get someone to help. And thank goodness we were at a campground. Have you ever noticed how many helpful, kind people there are at campgrounds?

Within five minutes of raising the hood on the truck, I had half a dozen other campers gathered around to help. Eventually one of the campground employees rolled up in a golf cart, and decided he could get us up and running. He came back with jumper cables and his own truck. Within ten minutes, we were on the road. It was spectacular. So a million thanks to everyone who offered to help, everyone who works at Hershey Highmeadow, and specifically the nice man with the jumper cables. It turns out one of the battery wires had come loose. What a relief! So while I have to replace Gary, I don't also have to replace my starter or alternator or battery. :D Whoop whoop!

So that's the sad tale of my weekend. I'm going to eat away my stress by consuming the rest of the chocolate we bought.

Hope y'all had a less stressful and yet still otherwise awesome weekend! Because despite all the depressing bits, the overwhelming majority of the weekend was spectacularly fun. I am declaring this coming week the Week of Writing. Since Gary's dead, it's not like I can distract myself with reading.

Truly Sad Panda

Here in the DC suburbs, news of a panda birth at the National Zoo has been everywhere for the last week. We've all been on the edge of our seats for a month as Panda Watch 2012 played out. When a baby was born last Sunday, it was thrilling. This morning, the eagerly anticipated little panda died. It just breaks my heart.

Mei Xiang, the panda mom, must be heartbroken. That's what alerted zookeepers that there was something wrong, they heard Mei's alarmed cries. She's such a good mom, and after watching her care for the baby all week, it tears me up that she's lost her cub.

I'm sorry to share all this sadness with y'all, but it's put the emergency brakes on my writing. I absolutely can't write the novel I'm working on right now. I need something to cheer myself up. I will gratefully accept links to good news today. Happy things. If you have such things, please share.

I do have a Progress-O-Meter update, since it's been a few days since I wrote one up. Don't be too judgy at my slow progress. I took a break yesterday to read The Enchantress, which has been sitting unread on my desk for months. I supposed that qualifies as good news. I loved the Immortal Nicholas Flamel series.

So that's it. I'm trying to snap myself out of the sad panda induced doldrums. I think I'm going to resort to ice cream. Hopefully that will help.

Progress-O-Meter:

Words: 55,007
Pages: 171
Edit Page: 61

Sigh...but amazing nonetheless.

Well, Janet Reid announced the winner of the Liz Norris Pay It Forward Debut Novel Contest today, and it wasn't me. But I could have told you that days ago. In fact, I had the winner picked since the day before I announced my finalist status. She was finalist #3, and was revealed the day before I was. When I read her entry, I basically knew I didn't have a chance to win. Congrats to Cassie Marshall on winning, and getting to go to New York for the Backspace conference! My personal seething jealousy aside, I'm confident her novel, "The Stars Fell Sideways" will be on bookstore shelves in the very near future!

So, what am I doing now that I don't have to pack and plan for a trip to New York? Querying. When I took a break to revise my first novel back in early March, I stopped querying. I resumed for a few days around the time I entered the Liz Norris contest, but stopped again when I was (miraculously!) chosen a finalist. I figured, what the heck, I've got a 1 in 9 shot of winning now, so I'll wait and polish that query again before I head back into the land of writer torture (a.k.a. querying agents).

I spent the entire day today dusting off my agent research, finalizing my query, and compiling emails to half a dozen agents. Knock on wood one of them works! It really is a time drag, but I needed a day off from my WIP. I'm entering the Great Boggy Middle of the novel now, and it's perilous trying to navigate my way through those treacherous swamps. False plot lines threaten to lure me off the trail, while here and there I see a glimmer of light through the trees and hope to dog I'm still walking in the right direction.

The Helper Monkey is about a third of the way through Devil May Care, and so far he likes it even better than Dragon Hunter. And I planned to change the name of Dragon Hunter to Running Down the Dragon, but since I'm claiming "Finalist" status in the Liz Norris contest on my queries, I thought it best to hold on to the original title for a while. At least until an agent requests more material. At that point, I think I will let them know I changed the working title. Just in case any of them ask Janet Reid about my entry in her contest, it would be bad if they used the new title, and Janet told them she never heard of it, and I must be some crackpot. :) So, for now, sticking with the old title, even though I've lost all my love for it.

And I finally found an image that remotely looks like my dragons. Although all the dragons in my novel are black. Whatever. These are the closest things I've been able to find that fit my mental picture of my imaginary friends. Hopefully this helps anyone who read my query clarify what I mean by dragons. Minus the weird otherworldly backdrop. My main dragon lives in Boston, for crying out loud! :)

Thanks again, everyone. Especially Janet Reid, Liz Norris, and everyone involved in the contest. It was a fantastic trip, and I'm grateful to have been introduced to so many wonderful people along the way, even if we're only friends online for now. Someday we'll all be published, and meet regularly at events and conferences, and have yet another great story to tell.

The Progress-o-Meter is kind of stuck lately, but here it is, anyway. I plan to write some tonight. Hopefully. We'll see. Still recovering from the craziness.

Words: 31,473
Pages: 103

Tuesday. Today stinks so bad I could cry.

Today started out great. I was all psyched up to write, since I wouldn't be able to work on the deck. First thing I had to do was balance the checkbook. I handled that like a pro, and moved on to the internets. I got all my email and things sorted and squared away, and then was ready to sit down and write. Yay!

Then the guy painting my house showed up and said we'd need more paint. Could I run out to Lowe's again and buy a few more gallons? Gah! So I did. That's three trips to Lowe's in six days. I'm really getting sick of that place. Turns out, I need to go back AGAIN and buy one more gallon. I could have cried.

Then we have a serious bit of drama going on with a friend of mine who has escalated a minor passing disagreement into a federal case. It has eaten a large part of my day, and filled me with distress. That's all I'll say about it here, but let it be known that it really eats at me that anyone who has a problem with me doesn't just say so to my face, but runs around and causes problems for all kinds of other people because of it. I'm not stupid, and we are not children. If you have a problem with me, just tell me, darn it! Don't run off and tattle to others, please.

Then, I had to run off to chorus practice, where a friend and I rehashed all that drama yet again. When we were done, I checked my email real quick, and realized I'd heard back from the agent who has my full manuscript. She rejected it, but with some very insightful advice, which I'm taking into consideration, and planning a whole rewrite of the first novel. Which means I'll have to trash most of the second novel, as well. The revisions she suggested, which mostly consists of bringing the two main characters together romantically, happens in book two, and that's about half the story line of the second novel. What they go through makes them realize they belong together. If I have to move all that to book one, I'll have to completely rewrite both books. And the third book I'm working on right now should basically just sit and go unwritten for now, if the first two books are going to undergo that much change. Pointless to keep writing it until the first two novels are rewritten. Right?

Not even wearing my pink shoes could keep me from wallowing in the doldrums today.

Damn Cheerful Shoes

No, not even these puppies could cheer me up after all that. I can't wait for Tim to wake up, so I can ask him what he thinks about all of this. I don't know whether to be happy to get so much great revision advice, or to cry because of just how much work will go to waste if I take it.

Then again, it's good advice. If I don't take it, I might never get published at all. And then EVERY SINGLE BIT of work will have been wasted, technically. Who the heck knows? I certainly don't.

I've decided to wait until tomorrow to make any decisions on what to do now. I've also decided not to cry, which is an improvement. Glad I had this chance to share.