Woke up, put on clothes, went to work.

I figured out what I have to do to improve my novel.

Cut all the stuff from years ago that I've been clinging to.

Over the years, I came up with some descriptive and funny scenes, sure, but they don't all fit anymore. And yet I've struggled to fit them in, like a 17-year-old trying to insert "veritable plethora" into his college application essay. Sometimes, as well-written as a scene is, it NO LONGER FITS. Slash, slash, slash. I must do it.

Next week is going to be a revision week. And yes, I'll be heating up some black-and-white cookies in the morning and enjoying them with steamed skim milk as I re-enter the world of my main characters and their forbidden affections. I'm getting primed for this. I'm thinking about what I have to do. Ready for Round 17, or whatever I'm up to.

By the time next week is over, Novel 3 will be unrejectable! OK, so no such thing, but it will be better, anyway. I want readers to enjoy this story. I want it out there.