So you want to be a book writer?

Well, number one, it's easier to have your teeth pulled. But don't let that discourage you. There are beautiful implants that are better than your choppers. I am very lucky. The first time I drafted The White Bridge, I was very happy; happy because it was perfect. But when I read it again, I saw little errors. Like roaches, reverse quotes kept coming. Em dashes were sprinkled with drunken glee. My blood sugar must have been out of whack. The book was no good. So, I wrote it all over again. Still, I missed a few concepts, but I was happy. It was perfect, again. Except my sentences were too convoluted. Short and sweet, I wrote it again, but I stayed happy. Then I showed it to Vic Fortezza, a gifted author and sadistic editor who likes to bring logic and clarity to an author's vision. He signed on to read my book because he believed in The White Bridge and though he is author of A Hitch in Twilight and has a gift for the dark side, I think he recognized The White Bridge was simply unique psychiatric stuff. His new novel, Killings is out, and it is a wild political ride.Together we stood on the corner trading quips. So I revised again, and I was happy. Vic added or subtracted and sometimes, when he couldn't help himself, began lengthy re-writes that shockingly threatened to turn my book into his. What the f...k? The White bridge does that; it makes even authors go freaky freaky. Back on track, I kicked him off my bridge, but re-wrote again and I was happy. By the time I finished my sixth or seventh draft, I was not so happy. I WAS A TORTURED MESS. I hated the book. But by then, I had sent it to the publisher. Phil Harris and Debra Harris. They told me straight. I have a convoluted brain. And I simplified and simplified and finished and I was happy. I swore never to look at the book again for fear of finding another error or of not liking the turn of the phrase. Now each time we re-read, we can have a different perspective. But when I found I spelled "dessert," with only one "s" I simply panicked. That and another reverse quote. I swear like roaches, they are hard to spot. I wrote to Phil to stop the presses. He is always solicitous of me and for that I compliment his patience. There are now only two or two little errors, but one outstanding one. I will not bother him again, I promised, not on Sunday, not again. But tomorrow, fresh from my thirtieth revision, I will broach an error of omission that, without revision, will not make my happy. So you want to be a book writer? Welcome aboard that wonderful world of pain.