And more rewrites.

I'm not dead, but you'd never know it from the postings, would you? When Real Life hasn't been getting in the way, I've been beating up the draft of Busted, trying to get it in shape to shop around for publication.

It's been a !@$! pain in the ass getting it ready, too.

I thought the worst part about this would be throwing out scenes. I've already tossed 30K words, the last third of the book. Not that it isn't bad; some of the stuff I tossed I really, really like. I hate that bit.

The worst part is going back, gutting, and reworking the stuff I I've already polished, stuff I thought was done.

The only thing keeping me going at this is sheer bloody minded righteous indignation -- the first draft was better than some of the stuff I've paid money for, and dammit if that crap can get published so can my stuff. There's just no way in hell I'd let something in the shape Busted was go out with my name on it, even if it is a pseudonym.

I should know better by now. Righteous indignation's gotten me in enough trouble over the years. (And no, not in the way you might expect) Oh well, ya gotta play with what you got, I guess.

So one more plot thread gets thrown out, and another thousand words get to get rewritten again. At least poor Toby's not going to be getting sick, and Joe doesn't get stabbed. And I still get to knock Joe on his ass with the gun, even if I had to work at that. (As was pointed out by a friend who read part of the first draft, handguns just don't have enough kick to knock an adult off his feet, something I should've known. f=ma, and bullets just don't have that much mass)

Start to finish this damn thing's going to end up taking a year. I hope it's worth it when it's all done.