I'm getting pretty sick of my book. Well, that's a lie. I still like it. But I've read it a LOT recently. And I'd rather be doing other things, like writing a new book, or being magically put into print by someone who plucks me from obscurity and into the literary heavens. Buuuttt....no. I'm revising. I'm 1/3 of the way done - I've read all the way through my book, fixed typos and awkward sentences, and now I have to add scenes I think need to be put in. After that, I will reread the book once again, checking for typos and awkward sentences, and then, finally, I will decree the deed finished.

Then it'll be time to start querying again. We'll see how that goes.

But I have a feeling this one will be published. I just...know it. I can feel it. I have the skills and the know-how, the ambition, and the star quality. I will make it happen. And I've got to do it before the commodity of my youth wears off. <---joke. Kinda.