Any club that would have me as a member
I've been going over the edits suggested by anthology editor. (Very little, really--mostly the discovery that when I transferred over to rtf format, all my em-dashes got messed up. *blush* Also a handful of very minor references to scenes that I cut to come in at the specified word limit.) Total crash of self-confidence, of course. I'm currently convinced that this story is total crap and they must not have gotten any submissions or they would never have chosen mine. Oy. Clearly the guy thought there was something here or he wouldn't be bothering to buy it. Still, logic is not preventing my urge to fling myself groveling at his feet and apologize for wasting his time with my embarrassingly substandard work.
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Minor edits are GOOD. Clearly, you've done your polish and your writing is there. The editor's just making you shine it up to a nice lustre. You know this. Listen to yourself. :-)
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A lot of the problem, I think, is that this was originally a 29,000 word novella that was kind of difficult to sell and got cut down to a 4,000 word short story instead. Over the course of a weekend. And so I keep seeing what was once there and isn't anymore, and have a lot of trouble being objective about the shortened work.
I know it's clearly ok--if it wasn't any good, it wouldn't have gotten this far. The fact that I've got other pieces I like better that keep getting rejected is also mostly just an indicator that I haven't found them the right home yet. All will be well.
But the brainweasels keep sneaking back, and their fur is itchy. I can hear their little claws clicking.
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It's very difficult to be objective about your own work, especially after many edits and drafts. But you're looking at this exactly the right way, when you can get the brainweasels to stop poinging around a bit...it's all about finding the right home for the right story, and you've found a good home for this one, clearly, if they're paying you for it. :-D
Are they making the yipsnarfle noise yet? You know they're going full-tilt when the damn brainweasels start making the yipsnarfle noise.
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