Damn it.

I recently got my manuscript back from the editing team. Their take overall was positive, but they more or less unanimously objected to a framing device I’d used.

As usual, it was because they just didn’t understand what I was doing, that this was integral to the plot, it’s an established device in the genre, don’t they read, do you people know who I am?

So, I went off alone to my corner to have my private misunderstood artist moment, to seethe and reflect on how unjust it is that I am doomed to walk alone as the only person who really gets it. Then I came back and reviewed their notes in detail.

The thing that got me to stop and try a rewrite was that old convenient handle: guilt. Once a Catholic, you will always have that handle sticking out to be grabbed, even if you wind up President or shave your head, put on a robe and start selling flowers in the airport.

My book manager said that “I think it would be better of you changed it. You could get away with the device, but do you want to just ‘get away’ or do you want it to be something exceptional?”

Well, I still hold enough Irish Catholic working class self doubt that looking down my nose and directing him to publish it and stop questioning his betters, damn his eyes, just isn’t on the table.

So I swore, had a big drink, rolled up my sleeves, and went back to the trenches and rewrote it.

And it’s so much better.

Maybe I’m not the only one who understands my art.

Damn it.