Patience, my boy, patience

I know its obvious, but I hate flu season, and getting a cold. It's hard to avoid, especially when you have kids in school where it spreads quickly. I certainly empathize with those who have to go through it. Been there, done that and will likely do it again.

Fortunately my wife and I have avoided the scourge, so far. However, my editor hasn't. I sent the manuscript for "Singing Stones" to her the first of the month with hopes of getting it back within three weeks. About a week later her facebook posts told of an epidemic of generational proportions ravaging her family. She was down for nearly two weeks.

She's quite the trooper, though as she still takes care of family and business. Something had to be sacrificed to make time for all of it. Editing has to take a lot of time and it is something that can wait, if need be. Perfectly understandable.

Alright, I admit to feeling a little abused by the delay. That's selfish of me, I know. My muse was already on me for wanting one more edit of the story. She didn't think it really needed another. "You have written it perfectly," she said in present perfect tense. Although I wanted to agree with her I want it even more gooder (that's Utahn for perfect) . . . if that even makes sense.

As a procrastinator, I did take advantage of the postponement to reconsider how to begin the next book in the series. For several days I plugged away at different openings searching for the right time frame. Nothing worked.

Thank God for muses. Despite my spending more money on another editor she stepped in and helped me. Of course there was some begging involved, but we won't go there. After only a few minutes discussing the problem she set her laser on it and I soon popped out my first draft.

Of course the chapter may not survive the final edits, but I'm now on track. Perhaps my editor's flu bug was serendipitous for me. I doubt she would agree, though.

Then, inexplicably, my muse decided to read the sample edits Tristi Pinkston did on the first 20 pages. "Alright," my wife admitted. "Maybe it wasn't so perfect after all."