In the middle of a big editing job: erasure shavings everywhere, post it notes creeping up my ass, hunting and pecking for transitions, new structure shaky like the legs of a doe. Looking for the heart of the thing, the lungs and liver. I fucking love this work. It’s just me and the page. Face to face. Man to man. Thirty years of a muscle. I truly believe where there is great writing a book of great beauty can emerge no matter the struggle . I loved being an editor. Was proud to tell a stranger on a train what I done for a living. Now, I’m that thing with eight legs but I still have my blue pencil. Still have a trick or two.
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Betsy Lerner 
Yes; no doubt !!😁
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I’m editing too, but I’m at the weary stage of it after the flush of “Yay editing!” has worn off. Also that was probably a terribly mixed metaphor.
Shining through is your passion. And expertise. It’s a mighty thing to know you’ve got the stuff, empowering. Writing, like editing, is hunting and pecking, chiseling and sculpting. That’s what I love about it most. The struggle gives it heft.
You enjoy the journey.
Yes. Please do. You deserve every happy moment.
Indeed
They are beautiful creatures these books
Betsy, you’re a saint. A tricksie, eight-legged saint.
I’m a shitty first-draft writer and sometimes find myself struggling a bit with the third and fourth drafts, as well. But give me a red or a blue pencil over a blank page any day.