Truth Before Tact


*claps hands together, blows into them anxiously*

*stares down at Chapter Eighteen, who lies sprawled but wiggling on the editing block, soft belly exposed and trembling*

I feel like I’m about to gut a puppy.

Eighteen is everything good about The Hushing Days. It is the manuscript’s core, its beating heart, its soft, squishy soul…

Yep, gutting a puppy here.

So, you go enjoy your day. I surely won’t be enjoying mine.

Until tomorrow…


Post-Note: Sorry about the imagery here, but editing can be ugly business. Sometimes truth must come before tact… now, excuse me while I go smooch my furry, four-legged muse silly.


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