By forever, I mean roughly eight months, but that’s still a pretty dang long amount of time.
Anyhow, I just made the last massive corrections I will ever have to make. Next week I present it in a class at the local high school.
I am not even the teensiest bit proud of this story anymore (okay, only the ending), but I know it so well that I will have no problem telling these chil’ren what it was like to write it and then wrestle with it for months afterwards.
And then it will be printed one last time, and tucked away forever never to be looked at until one of my great-great grandchildren pulls it out of a box in the attic. They’ll have a nice, long laugh and then maybe it will go in the trash.
OR THE SMITHSONIAN, I AIN’T PICKY.
Crying on floor. Fetal position. Mopey music. No productivity. All of that and more.