My Orange Pen of Despair

Once again I've fallen into the realms of a major edit. And once again I refuse to use a red pen.

This time I've taken refuge in a tangy little orange pen. (Ok well it's not really little ... and it doesn't actually taste like an orange ...) I will do just about anything to avoid that bloody ink upon my pages.

Unfortunately, my little citric friend is still doing it's job. It's crossing out sentences here and adding scenes there. It's like he's (yes my pen is a he ... anything that nags at a woman should be considered a he ... just sayin) laughing at me and saying, "Ha ha ha you foolish twit. How could you have missed that adverb the first twelve times around? And seriously, haven't you learned anything about show vs. tell!"

Yeah I don't really like him either. Maybe I should return to my pretty pink pen who talked to me with love. She wouldn't laugh at me, she'd gently break the news in a pleasant matter. She'd say, "Oh honey, you can't use that many adjectives to describe his eye brows. Saying fluffy uni-brow gives us a clear enough picture.

Isn't she sweet?

But what do I do? Do I dig her out of my gnome box?

Not a chance.

Why you ask?

Because I'm at that point in my edits where I need a little tough love. I need to hear it like it is.

I think everyone has that point in the revision stage where we finally break down and accept the dirty truth. The truth that there is more we can do to make our manuscripts shine.

So break out your Honest Orange pens my friends. Let them get rude. Let them hurt your feelings. Let them force you to make your manuscript better than you ever dreamed it could be!

(Why yes, I have lost my mind. Why do you ask?)