Right, moving along.
I had a great coffee-chat with my editor yesterday. She was astonished to learn that Golden Moment is my first publication. Apparently my copy was so clean that there were a couple of comma changes and ONE word that she wasn't entirely thrilled with, but decided not to bother me with those minor edits. So, on the plus, it means I do a fairly good job of self-policing, and that my beta readers and editor-suggesters are awesome. I'd thank them publicly, but one of them would rather NOT be thanked (I understand this person's privacy concerns) and I don't want to give the other one over-credit. But, thanks y'all. You know who you are!
I got the scoop on an upcoming CFS (Call for Submission)... so I'll have to do some thinking about that.
She was also exceptionally pushy about my submitting my novel; Marked Man has been sitting in the trunk for a while. So, I'll schedule in edits for that, and start trying to move it.
We talked about books we've read, other writers we admire, our first pieces of erotic fiction (mine was Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, by Anne Rice) and kids. There's something incredibly bonding about discussing kids with another woman that I rarely get to experience. Most of my women friends either don't have children, or, in the case of my best lady friend, I already had a fairly close bond with before we spawned.
It's one thing; much as I love my beta readers, to have friends rave about your work. Not that I don't think they'd tell me something was crap if it was - in fact, one of my readers didn't actually like Golden Moments all that much. But I always wonder... how much praise comes from a fondness for the person behind the keyboard? It's something totally different to have a relative stranger, one who is herself an award-winning writer, give praise.
Apparently I was so high on life yesterday that my husband wouldn't let me drive home (I went to pick him up from work... him and three ENORMOUS zucchinis that he got from his co-worker... seriously, these are some scary gourds!) for fear that I'd run us right into a telephone pole.