I hate revising. I mean I really, really hate revising. Well, except when I love it. When I love it, revising is wonderful. But today I hate it. Today I feel lost in the morass of words that make up my novel. My novel is now about 6,000 words longer than it was. But are they good words? Are they words that further my plot, enhance the mood, create tension? Or are they just 6,000 more words?
To relieve the stress, I should go for a run. But, really, why? Because complaint number two is that my shot at Boston is gone. Okay, realistically, it was gone a long time ago, but I still had these dreams. My marathon PR is 4:13:46. I’m 42 1/2. At 45, the qualifying time for a woman is 4:00. Before I hurt my foot, that felt doable. Post-foot problems, I still thought I’d get my mojo back and succeed.
Not anymore. Oh, I still think I could make 4:00 by the time I’m 45. But 4:00 is no longer a Boston qualifier (BQ). Because the BAA deemed that too slow. Apparently, just anyone can run fast and the race sold out too quickly last year. So they made the times faster. And created a rolling admission. So even if, by some miracle, I could run the 3:55 that is now the BQ for 45 year olds (which I can’t), they’re going to let those who run it faster in earlier. Those who beat their required BQ time by 20 minutes or more or going to be allowed to enter the race on September 12. Those who beat it by 10 minutes, can enter on September 14. On September 16, those who have beaten it by 5 minutes get to register. On September 19, all those plebeians who just made the BQ are allowed to register. If there’s still room.
Complaint number three? My boy is sitting here and won’t get his finger out of his belly button. He is going to be in braces the rest of his life because he won’t get his finger out of his mouth, either. Seriously. That kid is not going to ever get a date for the senior prom at this rate. Because you can’t dance with one finger in your mouth and the other in your belly button. [He’s reading over my shoulder and says, “I don’t care! I hate the senior prom! Whatever that is.” Maybe I’ll remind him that there are no great rock and roll singers who suck their fingers. At least not in public.]
But it all leads back to complaint number one. I hate revising. Really really hate revising. Maybe I should start sucking my finger. Apparently it makes everything bad go away.
I plan on getting into Boston when I’m 70!
80 is probably more realistic for me. Sigh.