Michelle becomes a slashing butcher…

Last night I grabbed a (literary) machete and hacked my book apart. This was my first book, a book that I wrote without any clue what I was doing. I’m amazed that it ended up 412 pages long. How that happened, I’m not sure. Chapters one and two were vaporized in the process.

Anyway, as many of you know, I decided to enter the American Title contest with it. So far, this manuscript has been butchered. Passive scenes are lying in cyberspace bleeding from the wounds I’ve inflicted. I finally tightened it up until I felt good about it and sent it to my critique partners. They agreed that I needed to cut the first scene. I don’t know whether to laugh hysterically or thank them.

Having a fresh set of eyes is so crucial. I’m amazed at the stuff that gets past my radar when I’m self-editing. But sometimes you reach a point where you question–have I edited the heart out of this manuscript? Is it no longer my own? What’s happened to it?

I don’t recognize this book anymore. Maybe that’s a good thing. In the meantime, now I have to go back and do some more editing since chapter 4 will now become chapter 3. Rats. I had that puppy printed, the envelope addressed, and ready to go. Isn’t that just the kiss of death? Once you print it, you find every typo in the world.

On the bright side, it’s like having a new manuscript. Shhh! I can change the title and resubmit it, since in the past, it never made it past the proposal stage, except for Harlequin Historicals. Now there’s a good thought!