Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Defeat overcame me as the words washed over my soul. “Editor needed for grammar.” No. The entire reason I asked for readers I trusted was to face those issues softly. Of course, I knew the truth in my heart. A reader and an editor are two completely different roles. In all fairness, hoping a friend would put in the time and energy to fix minute details was not realistic.
Facing the computer, my fingers flew over the keyboard searching Google for editing services. Quote one equaled a $2000 price tag, quote two, $1000. I closed up Google. Paying that amount of money fiscally was a gamble I refused to take or ask my family to take. I zipped off a note to my reader thanking her for all her help and asked if she had any suggestions for editing at a reasonable price.
The rest of the day I washed laundry and dishes. Pulling the sheets tight across the mattress, thoughts of how to fix my problem tumbled through my head. I sighed in relief as family members filtered through the door from work and school to help distract me from my problem. I hid by not mentioning a thing to my husband. My head throbbed, so I read other writers’ novels not thinking of mine sitting on the desk. I fell asleep to listing all the daily happenings that I was thankful for, minus the comment about my novel.
I trudged to the gym the next morning not thinking and continued through my morning routine until I opened my e-mail. My faithful reader responded to my questions with three options to my editing dilemma. I hated all her ideas. I felt frozen in fear. I closed up her words and played on the computer.
For hours, I avoided speaking of editing out loud; yet, conversations ran through my head. The continuous pressure in my forehead kept the problem in close proximity. I read; I crocheted; I avoided. As water streamed out of the faucet, a thought hit me. Grammar Nazis! I feared giving my work to anyone with a red pen. The pounding in my head grew more persistent. Instantly I was transported back to the classroom with the blood of red ink pouring off my papers. I still hate the letters C and B with the sympathetic minus sign keeping the lower grade at bay. I feared giving someone the opportunity to say I was a horrid writer. This happened in the past; I didn’t want it for my future.
Was I going to let one more set back keep me from my dream? For another day or two, yes. For all eternity, no. However, the thought of becoming a fulltime crocheting, reading, gardening, stay at home housewife looked appealing.
A day crawled by when I finally realized a dear friend held an English degree. I finally acknowledged everything to my husband/writing coach. He confirmed my plan. After some e-mails back and forth, Maria agreed to edit with pixy dust. She would be my Grammar Fairy, not a Grammar Nazi. With excitement mounting to work on this project with this amazing lady, we met over coffee and my novel is in her safe keeping. My writing life is back on track awaiting more challenges.