I locked my front door and threw my back against it. Thank goodness they finally took off for work.
I carried my oversized palm tree motif mug of coffee to the glass topped table in my living room. I slurped a hot gulp and then settled into the recliner. I dug in my purse and yanked out Mike’s manuscript.
Reading the revision letter from the editor, I tried to assimilate what she wanted.
It seemed pretty straight forward. I just had to show action, not narrate, watch out for missing words and move the subplot resolution to an epilogue.
I pressed the four hundred pages to my chest. Smiling, I said, “This is for you Mike. I’ll try my best to get you published. Your life’s love was not in vain.
I set the letter aside and began reading.
Okay, I knew right away what the editor meant about missing words. She obviously thinks people speak in complete sentences. Yeah right. Assistant Editor Betty McNeely is probably a twenty-one year old size zero trust fund girl, with no real life adventures.
Well, if that’s what she wants, I can do that. Simple enough. I picked up a yellow highlighter and went through marking all the clipped dialogue.
Norma Jean bounded onto the sofa, spun twice and plopped down with a groan. She contemplated me, raised her eyebrows and shut her eyelids.
Visit here again for a new installment or purchase the complete tale