There were six edits in my copy-edited manuscript.
Six.
I’m done. Fifteen minutes, and I’m done.
I am in a severe state of shock from the disbelief.
And the only real error I had to correct? My (understandable) use of metric measurements instead of American Imperial.
I even double-checked with my editor, and she said that she’d cleaned up the copyeditor’s other marks which were mainly punctuation (not that there was a lot of that, either) so no, everything I saw was what there was to handle. Which means I said everything clearly and (one hopes) right the first time round. And that it’s good, and nothing raised a red flag or a question along the way.
I’m hanging on to the MS to look it over one more time to see if there’s something I want to add or tweak. I’ve promised not to do anything drastic that would require another editing pass.
But… really. Fifteen minutes. Compared to the other soul-rending gnashing anguish-filled experiences of handling the copyedits/rewrites on my other books… well, like I said, I’m just in shock. They’ve gotten better over the years, but. Still.
Six.
Which means… I get to write today.
I am so bookmarking this post to refer to in the future when I get down on myself about not being a good writer.