This is my weekend. This pretty pile of paper. Draft two of a story with ugly sentences in red and notes on things to fix in the margins. By the end of Sunday, I want to have almost no red and most of the comment boxes deleted.
I need this story out the door by next week so I can concentrate on finalising my NaNoWriMo plans. Walter (my dictaphone) is also holding three stories for me--one most definitely pants, one WTF, and one shiver-down-my-spine-creepy. I'd also like to edit one or two of the stories on my jingle bell line before hibernating in my new book. Ooh, new book. Excited now. Excited is so much better than overwhelmed.
In pretty news, Strange Men in Pinstripe Suits is now available to buy at Amazon.com - treble the excitement. I expect to be a millionaire by next week. In the ranking sense that is. My book's rank started (okay, first time I checked in) at 97,677, and has steadily dropped to 153,853 during the day. Boy, those guys sell a lot of books. That's 60,000ish shifted in about 7 hours. Bloody hell. Of course, I might be getting the math totally wrong, but still, they're mega busy and that's good for us right. People are buying books. Now I need to torture people into buying mine.
Something is wrong with that last sentence.