My emotions are so volatile these days. It's worst when I'm working on the book; I'm so caught up in the lives of these characters, and so anxious about how the book is going. I take everything to heart. I was trying to explain some of Jed's crits to Kevin, to see if he could help me figure out how to deal with this one recurrent problem that has been driving me mad since the first draft, something that's slowly improving, but evidently not improved enough, since almost every critiquer is still having trouble with it. And I just burst into tears of frustration, that I couldn't seem to get it right. One shouldn't cry over one's book.
Once was bad enough, but then two hours later later, Kevin came back into the room, and made some casual comment about some aspect of Shefali's character, and I got all defensive about her, and about the writing, and about women and sex and marriage and love and I don't even know what else, and ended up crying again. Lord. What fools these writers be.
Poor Kevin. I don't think dedicating the book to him is sufficient thanks for this one.
