Editing

I have two complete manuscripts, same characters, just as most of the bestselling novelists in crime fiction seem to do. They are both a little too long to send to an agent. I have been working on the second one this week. So far I've trimmed 2K of the 5K I think I must go.

I don't like doing this by numbers not merit--however, when one is new, one does as one is told. The other, more lowering thought is that really those 5K were superfluous to begin with. The numbers game is a trick that forces one into a more even quality. So, forget that resistance. I am willing.

My eyes hurt from peering at words. New glasses, too. It's the reading on a screen for hours and hours. Mostly I think it is fear. Fear to try. As long as they sit at home, they are mine and universally loved by all who see them. But that is not how art is appreciated, wars are won, or books are published.

So, once I carve some more off of them, out they must go. I don't like to think of myself as a coward, and in general I don't think I am. But this kind of fear has slain me all my life.

"The coward dies a thousand deaths; the brave man only one."

So far this phrase has been of no help to me whatsoever.