Why typing "The End" isn't the end of it.
It's not the real cover, of course, just the picture I had in mind while writing my novel. But I thought I'd post it to celebrate typing those magical words "The End!" Yes, it's finished, except it's not. I'm sharpening my editor's pencil now, or my finger-ends as they tap against the keys. One of my protagonist is threatening to sharpen other things and complains over my shoulder. "How dare you make me out to be a wimp," says Tom. "I'm not some shy retiring Englishman like Eric. I've got style." My feeble defense makes me the real wimp I suppose. "I just wrote what you said" But Tom complains I only ever talked to him when he was down. Which is true. He only ever noticed me when he was down. Still, I promise I'll work on fixing his scenes if he'll just let me know what to change. "Why should I?" He storms away, throwing words over his shoulder. "You're the writer. You get it