As you may know, I am in the process of putting together a fantabulous book of essays with my BFF of the blogosphere: MOV over at Mothers of Brothers Blog. So here's the problem: we're working on editing stuff now. Editing. That's where we're supposed to slowly read our draft and find errors, flow issues, and consistency irregularities. These are all endeavors that require patience, a careful eye, and a very very slow pace.
If you've ever met me, you would understand my dilemma. I walk incredibly fast. So much in fact, that my husband is usually a block or two behind me when we head to dinner downtown. I eat fast. While my husband is still applying condiments to his entree, I'm already looking at the dessert menu. Even my speech is a rapid-fire barrage of words and thoughts that leave most people just smiling and nodding without the slightest clue of what I've just said.
And when I read? I'm on fire. Being an overachieving Mega-Nerd back in my college years, I would typically take 6-7 English classes a semester That amounted to having to read the equivalent of a full-length novel each day. I learned to read very quickly, glossing over filler words and focusing more on the big picture stuff. My eye for detail is non-existent.
This also explains why I'm always falling in potholes.
But I'm trying. I bought the appropriate supplies:
I also drank some red wine to help slow me down. I'm embracing deep, yoga-like breaths to help relax and center me.
I think my efforts are paying off. I fell sound asleep with our manuscript stuck to my sweaty forehead yesterday.
Slowing things down is awesome. I feel so well-rested.
Now where did I put those pens again?