Listening to: Yellowcard, "Miles Apart"
No matter how many times I and other people read through my manuscript, I still stumble upon typos when I go over it again.
Beautiful, wondrous typos that make me burst into laughter at 4 a.m., like this gem:
"...his breath sent an electric sock down my spine."
Teehee. Better hope your feet don't sweat when you wear that electric sock. Oh, this writing stuff never gets old.
I'm almost done with one final pass on the manuscript, and then it's off to the editor who requested it last Saturday. Fingers crossed, everyone--even though you won't be getting updates if they're negative, 'cause this is a happy place.
A happy place full of fantastic typos.
If you don't feel that you are possibly on the edge of humiliating yourself, of losing control of the whole thing, then possibly what you are doing isn't very vital. If you don't feel like you are writing somewhat over your head, why do it? If you don't have some doubt of your authority to tell this story, then you are not trying to tell enough. --John Irving