A Funny Thing Happened On Our Way to Publication

First, I want to remind y’all that you DO know I’m Beth Anderson’s alter ego, right? I explained all that good stuff back in February on our very first post, but I just thought I should refresh that info for our newest blog readers.

I’m Hotclue, the young, beautiful, goofy one. Beth is the author, the one who plods along doing all the work. We have a good relationship, but I love to make fun of her and she lets me do it because in spite of all her other failings, she has a wild sense of humor and while she takes her work seriously, she doesn’t take herself seriously at all.

Okay, now that we’ve got all that straight…

Today’s blog will probably give published authors a good laugh because most have probably had, or at least heard of a similar experience when they first started on this weird and twisted path. And probably the unpubbed will feel a little better about their own snafus and pitfalls along the way once they read this. (Normal civilians will read it and shake their heads because I’m confirming what they all think anyway: All writers are nuts.)

It all started when Beth wrote her first book. Not the first one published. In all honesty, if there was ever a more unpublishable novel, I have yet to see it. And this was before Beth ever dreamed there was a Hotclue. But I was there watching the whole thing, so I can tell you all about it. I have, in fact, talked about this event when giving Beth’s lectures for her (she’s very shy), so I’m sure she really won’t mind if I torture her one more time about this.

Even if she does I’m going to tell you anyway.

Beth, at the time, knew absolutely nothing about writing a novel, but she did all the author things just the same. She went all over Chicago doing interviews, notebooks and recorder in hand, armed with pens, and me, because although she went, I was always the one who asked the questions. Since she was hell-bent and determined to write a book set in the Twenties, which neither she or I knew anything about, I had a lot of questions to ask.

She sat down at her electric typewriter (don’t laugh, at least there was no email to distract her) and plunked away, finishing her first book–er–draft in about six weeks. All 123 pages of it. Now to be fair, that WAS only the first third of it, but she wanted, at that point to know if she was on the right track. There was really nobody to ask either, because she had a LOT of technical questions only a pro could answer and this was before either of us knew about Sisters in Crime and Romance Writers of America and all of those other great organizations. It was also before we got on the Internet.

One day in a magazine she saw an ad. (I bet half of you know which ad it was right off.) The one where you send your book AND $275 AND they’ll read it AND if it’s the Great American Novel, your future is set. IF it still needs help, they’ll critique it and get back to you and THEN your future will be set.

Sounded good to Beth because she thought she HAD written the Great American Novel, since it was about a young man involved in starting the first auto industry union in Detroit (Ewwww! Borrrrring!). Since it was set in the Twenties, she called it NICKELS. Please don’t ask me to explain that. I can’t.

She told a couple of friends about the ad. They told her not to do it, that she’d be wasting her money. And I couldn’t stop her–I almost never can when she makes up her mind to do something irrational. But she was determined to hear, from a pro, how she was doing and she knew she couldn’t submit to a publisher since it was only one-third finished. AND the man at the head of all this Publishing Industry Knowledge was a big name agent, SO she wrote the check and sent it along with her 123 pages and waited.

The check was cashed pronto. Her reply from The Big Agency took a little longer. One day about six weeks later when the mailman arrived, there it was. THE ENVELOPE. It was a big envelope, so of course, being Beth, she thought it contained a contract.

It didn’t. It contained a six-page rejection.

Six pages of rejection. Hard, cold, unforgiving rejection.

That’s a LOT of rejection, baby. A LOT.

Enough to scar the average normal person forever. But we already established, didn’t we, that writers are not your average normal people.

In reading that rejection, it was clear she had done absolutely Not One Single Thing right. At that point, I was keeping a close eye on her to make sure she didn’t pick up anything sharp, but to my vast surprise, she started laughing.

She laughed in the house. She laughed in the car on her way to the store. She laughed halfway through the store. Until she came to the Sugar Frosted Flakes. And suddenly, it all hit her.

Well, I’m embarrassed to tell you, she started crying. Not softly. Not quietly. She cried quite loud, in fact, still staring at the Sugar Frosted Flakes. A couple of women passed by and looked at her, at each other, back at her as if they were thinking, “Well, if she doesn’t like Sugar Frosted Flakes, why doesn’t she just pick something else? It’s not like there aren’t two hundred different kinds of cereal here, after all.”

Beth didn’t care. She just kept crying and tossing things in her cart. I tried my best to stop her because she was grabbing Baby Wipes, which I knew we didn’t need, beef bones, and this was in the middle of the summer when nobody in their right mind was going to make soup. You name it, she tossed it in the basket and cried all the way through the store. Cried at the checkout counter. Cried halfway home and finally got herself under control because she didn’t want to cry in front of our husband. Pulled into the driveway where he was standing, watching her get out of the car because he knew, OH, HE KNEW she had to be terribly upset.

She took one look at him and said, “Don’t sympathize with me, don’t say anything or I’ll start–”

That crying jag went on for about three more hours until she ran out of Kleenex and started using her sleeve.

Finally she ran out of tears and you’re NOT going to believe what she did next. This is SO typical of her. She picked up the phone and had three long-stemmed red roses in a crystal vase (she wouldn’t settle for anything less than crystal) sent to That Agent with a little note: “Watch for me on the New York Times bestseller list.”

Gotta hand it to her, the woman has balls.

Right after that, she took the entire six pages, highlighted everything that could possibly be construed as positive with a yellow highlighter and hung them in her writing room wall where she could see them every day. There wasn’t much yellow on those pages, but any port in a storm, right?

And then she sat back down at that electric typewriter to learn how to write novels.

She says now that she knows it was stupid to send All That Money to That Agent, but at least her first rejection was her worst, and she lived through it. So for $275, if nothing else, her skin grew several inches thicker that day and nothing about the publishing world and all its vagaries has ever bothered her, at least not THAT much.

I think she’s done okay. I REALLY think she’s done okay with the book we just finished, THE SCOUTMASTER’S WIFE.

Maybe That Agent will see her on the New York Times bestseller list yet.

Oh, no, wait–I think he’s dead now. Well hey, if nothing else, she outlived him–a minor triumph, but a triumph just the same. We take our little victories wherever we can find them, right?

For now, loves, it’s the weekend and Beth’s kitchen sink is stopped up and she can’t get a plumber here till Monday, so she has a wonderful weekend to look forward to. Green greasy cold water languishing in the kitchen sink. How appetizing. I get to escape these dreary little life events, so I’m off on Count Babbalallapaloozo’s private jet to meet him in Aruba for a few days. Gotta work on my suntan, don’t'cha know, and by the time I get back the sink will be fixed.

Timing is everything.

So ta ta for now, I’ll see you again in a few days! Love y’all, and come back again soon, ya hear me?
Hotclue

HEY, LOOK WHAT SLOANE’S GONE AND DONE NOW!

Sloane Taylor’s FIRST book is out as of yesterday, June 1, 2006, a day that will go down in infamy! Sloane is one of my crit partners and a dang fine one if I do say so myself. Her book, a pretty hot erotica, is titled, TEDDI TURNS ON. (We won’t go into details here, you should go to http://www.triskelion.com and download a copy if you want the details, and with today’s huge focus on erotica novels, who doesn’t?) Or, you could visit her website at http://www.sloanetaylor.com and read a lot of things, including recipes, can you believe it. Recently I asked Sloane if she’d like to do an interview when her book is ready and although I had to beg and plead (yeah, sure ;-)) she finally agreed, so here we go:

Sloane, did you have a desire to write when you were very young?

Hey woman, I’m still young. At least I think so until I look in the mirror. Ugh! To answer your question, not really. I’ve kept a diary or journal since before paper was invented. Sometimes I wrote short stories. My favorite class was English and I loved essays. I had never thought of being a writer let alone try to make a living as one.

Oh wait, you mean we can make a LIVING doing this? Hmmm…well, when did you decide you wanted to write novels?

Ten years ago my husband died. At that time I owned a travel agency and to overcome the grief I literally traveled the world. About four years back a tremendous pressure built in me and grew daily. I began to see these short scenes before me, like watching disjointed movie clips. I wrote the damned things down because it was the only way to clear my head. A friend knew of a group of writers who met weekly, and shoved me in that direction. They welcomed me about three years ago and have suffered through my work ever since. One of the members decided she would be my mentor. I’ve always felt she was either on drugs or desperate for a good laugh. Anyhow, this well-known author who wishes to remain anonymous–the chicken–took me under her wing and spent time, which I’m sure she feels has been an eternity, teaching me the technicals of writing. To her I will always be grateful

What a wonderful, dear, sweet, beautiful and talented friend she must be! What made you decide this?

It was never a conscious decision. It was a path I stumbled onto.

You’re currently writing erotica. Tell us about your first book, TEDDI TURNS ON.

TEDDI TURNS ON is about a widow who owns a travel agency. Gee, what a surprise! She gets screwed over by a German tour operator on a group tour contract. Her only recourse is to confront him, face-to-face, and force him to honor their agreement. Along the way she meets David, who owns a successful boot manufacturing company. He’s not a cold man, sex is an important part of his life, but commitment is not. Teddi hasn’t yet learned to let go of the past. The attraction she feels for David brings on guilt she doesn’t know how to deal with. Their story is a learning experience for both people.

Ah, I see! An erotic learning experience, right? You have more books planned in this series. Tell us about the series concept that got you a four book contract right off the bat.

All the characters are older, thirty-five plus. I’m older and got sick of reading all the cutesy, perfectly shaped girls who got the guy. I wanted to read about women and how they solved real life problems. I figured the best way to do that was write it. The Magnificent Men of Munich series is based on four university friends who have become successful men in their chosen fields. Their lives weave in and out of each others’, leaving little time for women unless it’s a one-night stand. Each has a problem from their past they refuse to face. The four American women these guys hook up with all have a connection of some sort to the travel agency. Each woman has a unique strength that attracts their man, thus allowing him to recognize and overcome his weakness.

Oh, I’ve gotta read THOSE books for sure! So, after you do them, what’s next?

Wow! Do you have enough time and space for all that info? There are five more books in various stages of progress. All are romances and definitely erotic. Two are a series and two others will be suspense. (I have a lot of faith in my publisher, don’t I?)

I guess! Sloane, you’re doing a lot of promo. Tell us about it. What do you like least about doing it, and why?

I’m a “not in your face” type of person, so for me it’s daunting and a hell of a lot of work, but it has to be done if I want people to know about my book. On my publisher’s loops I read everything other writers were doing to promote but some of it just didn’t suit my personality. I did feel comfortable about pens, so with the help of friends we built the Ink Infantry. (Stop laughing. It works.) Each of these people took a bag full of pens and my postcards then distributed them to everyone they know. Conferences need goody bag items so I selected five across the US and one in Germany to ship pens and postcards. To celebrate the release of TEDDI TURNS ON we are doing drawings on June 1, 5, and 8. Each day two people will win a bath scrubby and two bars of honey soap featured in each of my books. Also, I hooked up with Coffee Time Romance, Road to Romance, and Romance Junkies to advertise my book. Copies of Teddi Turns On were sent to them, along with Rendezvous and Wantz Upon a Time, for reviews. Now I’m biting my nails to the quick, waiting to see what’s said about my baby.

And your baby was finally born yesterday, congratulations! (SECRETARY, OH SECRETARY, please order a silver mug and have it sent to Sloane, will you?) So what do you like best about doing promo, Sloane?

That I hired Karen Simpson as my publicist. The woman is a dynamo and sets up reviews, interviews, lectures, anything she can think of.

How do your family and friends feel about your writing career?

My true friends were elated when they heard the good news that my first book was being published. My adult daughter is supportive, but wishes I didn’t write erotica. I guess no kid, no matter how old, wants mom to know too much about sex. Studly, my S/O, thinks it’s cool and prods me forward daily. My critique partners are brilliant writers who have no problem offering advice or vetoing a scene. My mentor faithfully wields her 2×4 across my backside when I get lazy. See? This is all good stuff and uplifting to a writer.

Now…the other part of the family and other friends…by their reaction you’d think I’d authored the DaVinci Code and they were the Spanish Inquisition. They had a variety of reactions. Some were glad to know I’d developed a little hobby to fill in my spare time. Others were positive “this little fancy” would pass when I realized no one was interested in anything I had to write. My favorites were the ones who, after I announced the book was sold, immediately changed the subject. Nice people, huh? What they haven’t figured out is, their negativity and jealousy won’t hold me back.

Now that you’ve done the deed, what do you think is the most important thing anybody who wants to write novels has to do first?

Decide if writing is a hobby or a career. If you want it as your career then treat it as such. Develop a writing regimen. Join a critique group. And learn, learn everything you can get your hands on. No one is so good they have nothing to learn from another human being.

And after that?

Get your ass into the chair and write.

You’ve traveled extensively all over the world. If you had a choice, where would you love to live right now?

I would never give up my American citizenship, nor would I become an ex-patriot. So with that in mind, I’d like to live on the Geisberg, a mountain just outside Salzburg, Austria, for one year. I’d have to have a roof over my head and that roof would be the Hotel Kobenzl, a luxury spa hotel with all the balconies overlooking Salzburg. That atmosphere would be very conducive for my writing.

When you’re writing, what holds you up most, if anything?

Myself. I procrastinate unless I’m super excited about my project and then I won’t stop to sleep.

What do you feel is the most important thing to understand when you become a published author, and how did you go about understanding it yourself?

Unlike the diet du jour we switch off whenever a tempting dessert appears, or in my case a fresh jar of mayonnaise, you’ve made a commitment. There’s now a publisher who had enough faith in you to offer a contract. Readers have decided to spend their hard earned money on your book. You have to live up to that commitment and produce better books.

How do I understand that myself? That’s another toughie. After all the excitement and celebrating settled down I had an epiphany. This wasn’t a game or a fluke. This was the real thing, and my life had made a major right turn onto the high road. It scared me to death, so I had a long talk with myself to determine if I could handle being an author. After I tossed aside my barf bag and calmed down, I knew I could because I love writing and I’m good at it. Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not an Ernest Hemingway nor do I profess to be like him. I’ve just learned there’s a God given talent in me and I need to use it, cause I don’t want to mess with the Big Guy.

This JUST cracks me up–you’re also a gourmet cook. What’s your favorite food that you love to cook?

Italian because it’s the easiest. No measuring. It’s all by taste and the aroma that fills the house is the best.

So what’s your favorite food when you go to a restaurant?

This might tick off the animal rights activists, but it’s veal. All menus I see have a big neon arrow pointing right at those tender little medallions.

What’s your idea of a perfect day?

Let’s see, the phone never rings, my cup of hot water and fresh lime juice is endless, and 4,000 flawless words magically appear on my computer. Don’t ask for much do I? .

Okay, we get the picture, you never have perfect days. What keeps you going as a writer?

My mentor and Studly. I’ve built this image in my mind that if I let either of them down by not producing, I’ve failed them and they’ll be disappointed in me. (Giving away too much info here.)

Anything else you’d like to add, either personal or professional, or both?

Professionally - If a person is serious about writing as their career choice they must remember that writing is a business. There’s no room or time to be anything but being professional. You can’t run and hide after a rejection or negative comment. Those things must spur you on to be better. Keep your mind open to new things. You’ll never stop learning unless you choose to, and that’s a shame because no one is that smart. Should writing become “work”, get the hell out of the profession. Negative attitudes will shine through in your writing.

Personally - Life should be fun or at least have many happy aspects to it. People make their own fun. You can’t rely on others to do it for you. So how do I do it? Many years ago a very good friend said she eliminated anyone from her life that dragged her down. Gwen didn’t mean the person who had problems they needed to discuss and wanted to resolve, she meant the whiners and bitchers who never let up and therefore change you. I’ve adopted her policy and my life has changed one hundred percent.

Sloane, thanks for dropping by and allowing me to blast to the entire universe that you’ve got a new book out. Folks, I read it and it is very, very good. Go nab it.

And thanks, loves, for dropping by my blog. I’m leaving in a few days for Mt. McKinley with Count Babbalallapaloozo, mountain climbing, don’tcha know, and don’t worry, our chefs and assistants are coming with us. I’ll have my laptop, so you’ll see me again in a few days. Until then, stay well, stay safe, and I love y’all,
Hotclue Herself

Oh, Man, Look What’s Going On With Viswanathan Now…

Viswanathan Update:

From: The New York Times, 05/02/06:
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/02/books/02auth.html?ex=1147233600&en=e8f0a101d1ba9134&ei=5070&emc=eta1

“Fresh passages in the novel by a Harvard sophomore, whose book was pulled from stores last week after she acknowledged plagiarizing portions of it, appear to be copied from a second author. At least three portions in the book, “How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life,” by Kaavya Viswanathan, bear striking similarities to writing in “Can You Keep a Secret?,” a chick-lit novel by Sophie Kinsella.”

AND From: The Harvard Crimson, 05/02/06:

http://www.thecrimson.com/article.aspx?ref=513204

“Now she appears to have borrowed passages from Salman Rushdie’s “Haroun and the Sea of Stories,” and Meg Cabot’s “The Princess Diaries.” In each of the cases, the passages in question contain similar rhymes and descriptions. ”

Both articles go on to show the similarities. I read them. They are similar. Way too similar. I wouldn’t want to sit on that jury.

Things are getting really hairy for Viswanathan now, wouldn’t you say?

Sounds to me like Desperate First-Time Author Thrown Into a World She Wasn’t Prepared For = Way, Way Too Much Pressure To Perform All the Way Around.

But she went along with it. Photographic memory or not, which I wanted to believe last week when I first heard about it, if you go to the links and read the similarities, you’ll see Viswanathan appears to be in a giant economy-size peck of trouble.

Maybe it’s time publishers started thinking about publishing 25 books at $20,000 each to 25 authors who are really working at turning out original books, instead of 1 book at $500,000 to someone who wrote a thesis so she could get into college and tried (desperately) to turn it into a workable novel.

No schadenfreude here. It’s a damn shame, the whole thing. I feel sort of sorry for Viswanathan, I feel sorry for the authors whose books have allegedly been plagarized, I feel sorry for the agent who almost certainly went into this in good faith, and I feel sorry for the publishers who put so much money into this project only to have to recall the books.

But then, aren’t we always reading, here lately, about huge corporations having to recall products that have turned out to be wrong somehow?

I wonder why this has been happening with such regularity here in the USA. Although actually, no I don’t wonder.

My Take: We have two things going on here.

One: a lot of people siezing on a hot potential opportunity to make a lot of money.

Two: a young woman growing up in the new American culture where too many people, both young and older, seem to think it’s okay to lie and cheat to get ahead.

Growing societal problems, both.

Kind of reminds you of the beginning of The Fall of the Roman Empire, doesn’t it.

Hotclue, Signing off on this one.

AS GILDA RADNER USED TO SAY, IT’S ALWAYS SOMETHING

Well, as Beth told you last week when she was guest blogging due to a circumstance I’d rather not discuss, I THOUGHT our new book was finished when she typed THE END. At her impassioned request I stayed a few more days, although Count Babbalallapaloozo has been PLEADING with me to return. He even offered to send his private jet for me, which I intend to take him up on the minute I can get away from this MANIAC.

Yes. Beth. Beth Anderson, that is. The author one. Insane. Demented. Clearly, without question, she should be led out of the house in a straitjacket and committed.

Listen to this. Just LISTEN to the hell she’s been putting me though when I’m so anxious to get back to the Riviera because the Count has promised to take me to Milan so I can add to my strappy shoe wardrobe as well as buy a few more couturier outfits. A girl can never have too many couturier gowns, don’t you agree? Especially when you’re a size six, as I am–oh, but I told you that already, didn’t I.

Anyhow, Beth demanded I stay with her while she went through what she said was her FINAL edit of THE SCOUTMASTER’S WIFE. I said okay I’ll stay, but just for a few days. After all, I am The Hotclue and I need to get back to my Hotclueieness as quickly as possible. I do have a reputation to maintain and I would rather maintain it on the Riviera, thank you very much.

So she said she had to do just ONE edit this time, she was sure that was all it’d take because she’d been SOOO careful.

Unh hunh. And when did THAT start?

She began reading her manuscript, found a few things she needed to correct, and corrected them.

Done, right?

Wrong.

She zipped through that edit in two days flat. Sat there reading, enjoying heck out of the book. Laughed again at all MY funny lines. Wept at all the touching parts. Wept at the ENDING, for God’s sake, when that’s not sad at all, although I have to admit it is poignant.

Printed it all out, lined up all the sheets, placed them carefully, reverently in a mailing box even though at the moment she has no idea where she’ll be mailing it. Still, it’s in a mailing box.

She took it out again two days later, just as I was packing to leave.

The minute she did that I knew there was going to be trouble. Sure enough, once she took that bloody manuscript out and began to look at it again all I heard from her for hours was, “Omigod, how could I DO that!” “OMIGOD, I did it AGAIN!”

“You did what again?” I asked. But I knew what was coming. She’s done it every single time with every single book.

Once she starts re-reading a completed manuscript, she always sees something wildly stupid that she’s done not once, not twice, but ALL THROUGH THE BLOODY BOOK and never ONCE saw ANY of it in what she thought was her final edit! Never. Ever. She might as well check the “Blind” box on her Income Tax return. There’s no box to check on your 1040 for “Stupid”. There should be.

With her first book, she discovered everybody in it was leaning forward, leaning back, leaning forward, leaning… Well, you get the picture. But it WAS the first book, so I forgave her.

Then there was the book where every other word was “that”.

Then there was the one where she had her male lead sighing all the time. Sighing, can you believe it, he’s a damn CHICAGO HOMICIDE DETECTIVE and she had him sighing at least once on just about every bleeding page, and she never saw the first one until after she completed all of her ‘final’ edits.

There was the one where there were at least forty semicolons on every page. There weren’t any in what I wrote, although she tried to blame them all on me by saying I never know when to shut up and that’s why she needed so many. (Her editor convinced her otherwise.)

There was one where sentence after sentence started with “But–”

This one’s really funny, I think. I’m calling this one her Bobblehead Book and I’m never going to let her forget it. All through it, she discovered just today as I was about to call the Count, she has been having her characters nod. She doesn’t have them nodding yes or shaking their heads no–that would be redundant, she knows that. They’re just nodding their heads and shaking their heads like a 40 gallon Disneyland luncheon buffet container full of multicolored Jello Jigglers.

So if you call her or knock on her door right now, she probably won’t answer. She’s busy either rewriting or deleting every nod and shake in the entire bloody book.

But she tells me not to worry, she’s sure she’ll be finished within a few more days and then it really WILL be THE END.

(Heh heh. Until an agent and editor get hold of it. But I’ll be in Milan by that time.)

Do other authors do this, I wonder? It can’t be a universal disease, can it?

Wish me luck, beautiful people. With someone like Beth to contend with, I’m going to need it.

Hugs and smoochies till next time,
Hotclue Herself, tap dancing around the telephone, just waiting her chance. Ta da da dum, te dum (kick!) te dum, de dum de de de dum…

SOMEBODY HELP ME SCRAPE HOTCLUE OFF THE CEILING!

Hello, everyone. I’m Beth Anderson, substituting for Hotclue today or until we can get her down off the ceiling. Right now she’s stuck up there as if she’d been hot-glued to the rafters.

Here’s what happened. I typed THE END to THE SCOUTMASTER’S WIFE yesterday. Hotclue took one look and believed it really was THE END, but when I told her (again) this was really only the beginning, she gave a horrendous shreik, flew up to the ceiling, and she’s still up there.

She did, I’m not joking. She looks like one of those cartoon characters flattened against the ceiling, eyes bulging out, hair sticking straight out from all sides as though she’d just stuck two fingers into a 220 volt electric plug, one designer shoe hanging precariously from her professionally manicured toes. We won’t discuss the disgusting leopardskin spandex leotards. I’m looking up at her right now and that’s exactly how she looks, I swear to you this is true.

I guess I can’t really complain about her appearance. I’m not much better, but that’s par for the course for me when I finish a book. I wander around for days looking like a lost soul in sweats and slouch socks with a hole in each heel.

I know the poor little thing is anxious to get back to Count Babbalallawhateverhisnameis, but I had to tell her that now we have to go back through the manuscript, clean up anything that’s changed, delete some, maybe add some here and there. She doesn’t realize we’ve got it pretty easy because for one thing, I’m a linear writer. I’m very methodical and I clean up most of the booboos as we go along. I have to or I can’t move on, which has made her insane during the entire construction of this book as well as the six preceeding it.

Hotclue’s a firefighter. She loves to fly ahead no matter what we’re writing, get it all down there, and then go back and clean it up after the whole story’s there. That’s fine, but that’s not me. I’ve tried to convince her that really, my way is better (for me) because to my way of thinking, we have a lot less to clean up afterward, plus, nothing really gets out of synch so final edits aren’t that bad. Still, she’s upset. She (greatly) misunderstood and thought there wouldn’t be anything to clean up when we finally reached THE END.

I also had to tell her she’s played enough, it’s time we get this book out there. She doesn’t want to stop playing. Not that I can blame her, the Count is good-looking and filthy rich.

But still.

Quick update: The editing’s done. See, two days, that wasn’t so bad, was it. Then again–and this is something else she hasn’t thought through–an official editor hasn’t gone through it yet.

Even so, YOO HOO, HOTCLUE, YOU CAN COME DOWN NOW! Aw, come on down, please?

See what I mean, folks? I need help.

I have a question for anyone reading this: How do you do it? Do you clean up booboos as you go along, or get it all down on paper (or computer) first and then go back and start editing? Have you tried it both ways?

Hotclue will catch up with you for her next blog, probably Easter Sunday after everybody goes home. Of course you realize, Hotclue does not cook. Never, ever. She dumps all that on me.

Then again, it does leave her more time to blog, doesn’t it.

Wish us luck with THE SCOUTMASTER’S WIFE!
Cheers, Beth