I’m currently proofreading UNEXPECTEDLY, MILO. This is my last chance to make changes, and they cannot be big ones. A word here or a word there at most. Everything else is pretty much set in stone.
It’s an unnerving process for me. Walt Whitman once famously said that a poem isn’t finished until the poet is dead, but once my book is proofread, it’s done, whether I like it or not.
No going back.
On page two, I found the the following descriptor:
Really, Matt? How the hell does anyone have any control over the degree to which they are sweating? You can sweat profusely, perhaps. But not uncontrollably.
And how did I fail to notice this during the first dozen reads through the manuscript.
See why I am so nervous?