Waiting

My manuscript is on someone else’s laptop. A stranger is reading the book I’ve been working on for over a year and I’m cringing.

Thanks to the anonymity of email, I will never have to look this stranger in the eye. Never know if he/she rolled their eyes as they waded through my pages or yawned with boredom. Never know if they laughed at their screen and called out to their partner, colleague, or dog, “Listen to this. Can you believe this crap?”

Paranoid—who me?

I’m waiting. I want and don’t want to know. Is it even worth fixing? Worth the inevitable rewrites, the time I should be spending on the treadmill?

Why am I doing this again?

 

Aimer at Amazon

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2 thoughts on “Waiting

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