The proposal was sent off at 4:24 PM. (And I just got a ping from my in-box — a note from my editor saying ‘yay, can’t wait to read it!’ That kind of thing goes far towards making a writer feel better.) I got it down from an extended thirteen pages to a tidy five by summarizing and collapsing detailed point-form chapter outlines. I still don’t think it properly reflects the book in my brain, but that’s all right, because the final product won’t either. And that’s okay, too, because the book the reader reads is never the book I wrote, since everyone brings something different to the book and takes something different away.
I am in full-fledged cold miserableness. Last week was the stomach-digestive system miserableness; it cleared up only to have me be felled by the cold. I am cold and achy and I can’t think straight. Meer, meer, meer.
And oh drat, it’s Wednesday, which means orchestra tonight, and I can’t hear and my fingers don’t move correctly, and thinking, what is thinking? I anticipate a not-so-enjoyable rehearsal.
Okay. Time to shut things down and go fetch the boy.