Sandy tells me that posting the following article will make her appear “less than fully sane.” To which I wholeheartedly laugh and respond, “It’s not the article, Darling, but the fact that I’m posting it that discredits your grasp on lucidity.” She agrees and goes for the vodka. I assume that means I’m free to post away…
So as she was driving home from work this evening, she was writing down little tidbits that I didn’t want her to forget—when she suddenly busted out laughing. Out loud. In the car. In full view of all the other drivers on Everglades Boulevard. She nearly drove us into the ditch, which calmed her enough to explain.
It had just occurred to her that she’d slaved for seven years at writing, editing, re-editing, querying, pitching, re-editing, and publishing a story that’s been forming in her head since 1985 (or earlier—Jamieson Drake actually visited her prior to ’85—the bastard) to complete Choices Meant for Gods, and in less than half an hour late one evening after two weeks of severe sleep deprivation…
…she added two scenes to the ending of the first book and sent it to the publisher, who sent it to the printer a day or two later. Done. No re-thinking. No editing. Those last-minute additions are just there and done and nothing can change them now. She says, “I guess we’ll know on Monday if those scenes sound okay or not!” (Monday is when her copies arrive.)
She’s giggling into her martini glass. I think she won’t be getting much writing done tonight…
Tags: Choices Meant for Gods, Sandy Lender
Thursday, March 29, 2007
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