Done. In two days, the first half of my manuscript has been edited and sent back. Yes, it was an insane deadline. But it’s done. It occurs to me that sooner or later I’ll have to stop performing miracles, or I’m going to get myself in a tight spot some day. Right; from now on, the Scotty method of evaluating engine-repair jobs. (Although it occurs to me that delivering material before my estimated time of completion is how I got myself up to celebrity status. Hmm.)
And I have suddenly remembered the possibilities held within the addition of simple underarm gussets, which just might make this ritual dress a go instead of simply a learning experience. Of course, I have no more black thread on hand. I’ll pick some up tonight, because right now, all I want to do is rest after driving myself mad with edits for forty-eight hours.