I feel numb. Dizzy. Kind of swimmy in the head and a little bit ferswoonish in the gut. Because my book comes out tomorrow (that’s Norse Code, for you search engine bots), and I know of at least one person who’s already bought it at a bookstore, and that means it’s probably too late for another revision pass.
I went to a Catholic school for one year, first grade, and was taught that erasing equalled cheating. If you put down the wrong answer, then you have sinned, and that’s between you and God and Father Hoben or if you’re lucky Father Bond who’s nicer. An eraser cannot absolve you. We had a math quiz, and I put down a wrong answer (let’s say it was 5 in answer to 4 + 2). Realizing my mistake before handing my paper in, but lacking an eraser, I did the only logical thing I could think of: lick finger, rub away my sin, and absolve myself with a confidentally written 6.
So, tomorrow, as my book hits the shelves, that’s what I’ll be doing: Smearing saliva over every copy of my book I can find and penciling in corrections to all the egregiously poor choices of language and story I made.
I know this entry doesn’t make a lot of sense. I blame the ferswoonishness.