~from Ami

"These Heels Are Killing Me" is the title, New York-willing, of the sequel to "Next of Kin." I finally finished it today. My self-imposed deadline was December 31, 2005, then January 31, 2006. Then, things being as they are, the deadline hovered near the Ides of March. I firmly believed I would take the manuscript to the post office March 20, 2006. Didn't happen.

You see, I'm a perfectionist of the worst kind. If it means re-reading a chapter ten times, I'll do it. I'll search for repetitive words (the bane of my first book!) until Jesus comes.

I read and re-read, making notes to myself: Check to see if 1982 Ford Granada exists and what value is, change name of truck driver (sounds too close to police dispatcher's), Sally gets hives in Ch. 7 then Ginny gets them in Ch. 30- too many hives?, establish just how pretty Battle Jonley is early on, what time is it when Nedal leaves the restaurant and how did it get to be so late?

If I'm not careful, I'll find my lists (spaced apart by a matter of weeks) will have duplicate commands. I checked on that 1982 Ford Granada twice.

*Go through Chapter Thirteen one more time and do a search for the word "again." Then search for word "for." Can't have too many of those in a chapter.

*Don't like victim's name. Let's change it, shall we?

*Wait a minute. If LuElla Sayre is a relative of the murder victim, why does she never mention it? (Slap to forehead.)

*Change "sports car" to "sportscar." Find, while executing print command, that I have accidentally changed all sportscars to "sport scar." (I have a sport scar from seventh grade basketball, thank you, Mary Jech!)

*For the love of all that's holy, I just now noticed that everytime someone sits down, they "settle back" in their seat. Must change this mass settling! Sit, slump, lean, burrow into the sofa...anything but settle!

Someone described the act of letting go of a manuscript akin to releasing a kitten into rush hour traffic. The feeling is one of utter panic. Despair. Hopelessness.

And yet...it's done! I refuse to let myself go through it anymore. This re-reading has to stop somewhere, am I correct? All 302 pages sit in a padded envelope by the door. Sealed. So as long as I don't go back to my computer, take another quick glance at Chapter Twenty-One...OH NO! Does the festival tourist have a Shih-Tzu? On page 236 I mentioned a third cousin who lived in Mississippi with her pet Shih-Tzu...but there's still time...surely the tape on that envelope isn't sealed completely...I could do one last find/replace search for Shih-Tzus....