Yesterday, I needed to take a stand against my fears.
Today, I need to take a breath and then get back to work.
This story was so much fun to write, but editing is always frightening to me. Am I adding value with additional detail, or am I only padding my word count? Do I need more details? Then I step into a murkier swamp: do I need the details I wrote? For example, why the fuck does he have a chaise lounge? For one, I don’t know how to spell that, and second, they are the most useless piece of furniture I have ever seen.
Then, the most terrifying detail of all: I don’t have a title for this story. May I call it 2017 #2 and leave it up to them? (Answer: No, Edie. It needs a title. Get on that.)
All this, while waiting to hear back on a story I submitted at the end of December. I’ve been checking my email every two seconds. Nine out of ten times, NARAL, ACLU, Organizing for Action, or HRC reward me with more email. Not what I wanted. Yes, I’ll email my senators while I wait.
The last thing I need right now is the distraction of Facebook, the chatter on Twitter, or the endless rambling of the news media. If you see me online tonight after I post this, tell me to get back to work!