Working Hard or Hardly Working?

Editing is both my mistress and my wife. Yes, it makes everything better but jesus she is hard work. Yesterday was ten hours worth of moving the comma in the morning, only to put it back in again during the afternoon. As my editor says, you pull one thread and watch it all unravel. Thankfully, I only dropped a stich here and there and will pick them up again today.

Ten hours. WTF? I know. Cray cray as the teen in my house would say. You know what? I was fucking grateful to my job before this incarnation as a writer. The midnight oil is on tap at my house, having worked in a high pressure, creative field before this. In my last job, you stay in the seat until the job is done, until the client is happy. If you need to you sleep at the office, under the desk, passing the baton on to your co-worker, you do it.

Work doesn’t make me afraid. I have done many jobs just to get money and have no shame in that. I have looked after retired, dementing nuns on a night shift, I have done political polls on the phone and been abused by rabid Liberal voters, I have been a Census collector, a cocktail waitress, a jazz singer and a cook in a nursing home. I have been an actor, a student, a carer, a cleaner and delivered junk mail, over the years and I could tell you a story from each one of these jobs. Bizarre, hilarious and touching stories. So. this is why I write now. Because I have a head filled with stories and experiences and the willpower to sit the fuck down and write.

That’s all it is. Willpower.

Yesterday, ten hours worth of editing. Brain surgery on the manuscript to make it better, the best it can be. I am grateful for the past jobs I have had for everything has prepared me for today.

 

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