It takes about two or three chapters to get into this mode; for your brain to switch from happy-go-lucky, life-is-just-wonnnnderful creativity to inner-bitch, what-the-fuck-were-you-thinking-when-you-wrote-that editor.
You become so adept at filing those edges, making them smooth, seamless that you find yourself editing everything around you. The book your reading, your co-worker’s email, husband’s text, the menu at your favorite restaurant.
You even start to analyze your own conversations.
*Just got off the phone with your parents. You begin to run the highlight wheel of the fifty minute conversation, picking out points to share with your spouse. Then stop.*
Ugh, I shouldn’t have gone off on a tangent like that. It was completely unnecessary to the point I was trying to make. If I’d said this instead, it would’ve made more sense. Yes, yes, I need to fix that, say this inst . . . Oh. Wait.
You can’t use the red pen on this one. It happened in real life, no revisions.
Then, not for the first time, you start to wish Book World was real, and not only because your Book Boyfriends (#whychoose) live there.
Hmm, wouldn’t that make for an interesting premise: Everything anyone says or does is edited for perfection…
You unconsciously reach for your red pen and start to revise the premise, because, hey, you’re still in editing mode.