You know how last Sunday I said that I won't have anything to do now that Couillon has been pushed to the e-publishers and the novel was in the hands of three agents, well I was wrong. So, so wrong.
Last weekend, I rushed to get everything done so I could have a bit of a breather, a vacation of sorts, but I screwed myself, because I was busy all week, this week, with work and personal commitments. And fretting about being a failure because I put out a flawed piece of work.
Yes, flawed. First, I realized that in my rush to the finish line, I had pushed the wrong word document to the three e-publishers, and then Dustin found more typos. I'm such a perfectionist that I couldn't just let it stand as is. I had to get all of that fixed. But work (the work that pays the bills) and commitments have to come first. So even though I was in panic mode about it not being polished, about people seeing the problems, I had to wait until Friday evening to get started on making the corrections.
All of Friday evening and all day yesterday (Saturday), I read and re-read Couillon, until I was sick of it. Problem is that every time I read it, I would end up word-smithing something or making a tiny change, and then because I could have potentially created new typos--damn you, dyslexia--I had to read it again.
I admit it's a good story, but I hope I never, ever have to read it all the way through ever again.
Note to self: rushing around only creates more work in the long run. There are no true vacations. Not for perfectionists.