electric mist

how do you spell relief?

You spell it: m y a g e n t l o v e d t h e b o o k.

I cannot express how relieved I was. And I know some of my friends are still reading and are going to have notes and I want those notes; I know handing people a big book to both read and critique over a major family holiday means that most people just are not going to be able to do it. I love them for trying, I know several are still reading and seriously? They rock, so no worries about time frame here. (I have the coolest friends.) I am going to still get notes from the editor and I will of course be working hard to keep taking the book up to the best level I possibly can manage, so comments from my regular readers will be much appreciated and utilized. But the fact that the agent read over the busy Thanksgiving weekend, in spite of all of the various events she had to attend, and still called first thing Monday morning (I'm late in posting this)... well, I think my agent hung the moon.

Also, special thanks goes to Tamar for reading over her busy weekend / trip to Boston and getting wonderful comments back to me Sunday night so that my head didn't completely spin off my body from anxiety.

Tamar had previously sent me this blog excerpt from the extremely funny romance writer, Jennifer Cruisie (whose books I think are hysterical and fun). Apparently Jenny Cruisie and Patricia Gaffney have been long-time friends and critiquing partners, and here's Jenny's comments about critiquing something of Patricia's:

But even worse was the time she asked me for help on a manuscript. I feel strongly that the only helpful feedback is honest feedback, but sometimes I am less than tactful, so after I e-mailed her my response, I got an e-mail back from her husband, Jon: Pat had read my critique and died. For the next week I got e-mails from Jon regularly about how devastated he was at his loss, about how all Pat’s friends were calling (“They forgive you”), about how beautiful she was going to look all laid out in her wedding dress (purple chiffon, which I think tells you all you need to know about Patricia Gaffney). And you know, there’s just no way to respond to that; even in death, she had me. Then came the last one. They’d been playing Pat’s favorite song, EmmyLou Harris’s “Tonight the Bottle Let Me Down,” at the funeral, and Pat had sat straight up in her coffin and said, “Where am I and why the hell am I wearing all this goddamn purple chiffon?” It was a miracle, Jon said. So I told him I could never critique her again because of the danger to her health. And what happens? She sends me the first two hundred pages of her latest work in progress, Mad Dash, and asks for feedback. And I tell her the truth: It’s fantastic. But even if it wasn’t fantastic, I’d tell her that because, frankly, I don’t need to hear about that damn purple chiffon again.

I cracked up. (And don't think I didn't send Tamar a "Toni died" e-mail from Carl as soon as I got her critique.)

I'm making final little nitpicky edits, and then it will soon go to the editor. Any additional notes I get from friends will be incorporated into the next round. (Have I emphasized enough yet that I still want those notes? hmmmmmmmmmmmm? Should I say it a couple more times? Yes, I'm talking to you.) (heh)

But right now? I am just tremendously relieved.

Posted by toni at November 29, 2005 07:23 PM