Last Chances

“For what?” I hear you ask.

1. To sign up for my author loop, receive my fun, interactive newsletter this weekend, and get a chance to win a fabulous wearable, in–honor–of–Halloween (every society member’s favorite holiday) prize! I’m doing the drawing on Friday, so sign up soon:

Click to join SecretSocietyGirl

2. For me to make my manuscript perfect perfect perfect before it goes to galleys. I had my final revision conversation with my editor last night, and I must admit that I freaked out a little bit afterwards. I didn’t freak out when I turned in the draft, because I knew a) that the book was pretty damn good and b) that if there was anything wrong, it would get fixed in revisions. I didn’t freak out when I turned in the second draft, because I knew a) that the book was pretty damn better now and b) that if there was anything wrong, it would get fixed in second-round revisions.

But now I’m freaking out. Even though I think that the book is pretty damn even better now, the fact remains that I will never, ever be able to bring this book to the level of perfection which I have imagined for it, and the chances to fix it are up. The book’s good. I think that. My boyfriend thinks that. My critique partner, my agent, my editor, the people my editor got to read it (including her boss’s boss’s assistant, who is apparently a very tough sell) all think it’s very good. But is that good enough? And why, oh why, can I not make this book the platonic “ideal” of the book that’s in my head? So yeah, freaking out just a little. Yay, writerly neuroses! Yay. Boo. (And not the fun, Halloween kind of Boo, either. Nor the hip-hop kind. Ha ha, Secret Society Girl in-jokes.)

Anyway, I love the book; I think it’s funny and heartwarming and a quick read. My editor said that it’s exactly the book we (meaning my agent and I) told her it would be when we sold it to her. Which is I guess the highest praise I can get, short of, “OMG, this book sounded awesome when you sold it to me, but now that I’ve read the whole thing, my very brain cells are weeping for joy with how much better even than your original estimation that this book is.” And really, what kind of nutball would I be to be wanting that?

So what I need to do is finish these revisions, accept that this book is as good/great as I can possibly make it, and that that’s okay. Maybe even more than okay. Robert Redford apparently can’t watch himself act. To be a sundance novelist isn’t a bad fate, I suppose.

3. Speaking of Halloween, this is the last chance someone has to invite me to a super-cool Halloween function, preferably one that’s entirely costumed. If not, this will be the fourth year in almost-a-row that I have not celebrated my favorite holiday. 🙁 (New York, 2001: scared of terrorists–and really, that should have been my first clue about the PTS, Australia, 2003: they don’t celebrate, Ft. Pierce, 2004: FEMA) Sailor Boy has some huge project due the next day, so I can’t be the Halloween-party instigator, but man, I miss my Halloweens! 2002 was even a bummer because I went to great lengths to set up this fun Trick or Treat thing at my house and apparently kids don’t Trick or Treat anymore (We had a few teenagers pull up outside in minivans driven by their parents, get escorted by their parents to the front door, and stand there, NOT saying “Trick or Treat” and wearing oh-so-witty t-shirts emblazoned with “This IS my costume” or halter tops and miniskirts which they claimed made them “pop stars.” Note: These are not Trick or Treaters.) So, someone save me, please!