I'm not the organized person I used to be. (I was one of those with an enormous pile of papers on her desk. Someone comes in for some obscure memo. Hand goes into pile pulls out the correct memo.) I don't know if it's all the drugs I take or whether that portion of my brain no longer functions as it used to since The Event. But I hate this. With a passion.
My incredibly patient friend Rich (who actually may be close to jumping out a window) has had to put up with my disorganization. And as he is doing editing work for me and since I love him, I hate making his life harder than it should be. But I think- no I know- everything is in order now, and I will follow each and every one of his rules, so I don't misplace docs again. Oy. At least I suffered too. I was panicking going through doc after doc trying to piece together everything we've done.
This is a relief. A huge relief. and Rich's suggestions are fantastic. He gets what I was trying to do by writing my goddamned tome in the first place, and I get how he can and is making it better. Can't think of a better partnership. Now that my docs are- well not in a row (and that's a godawful pun, and I simply refuse to make it, so fucking there!)- where they're supposed to be, I'm much, much calmer. Rich, bless your heart for being you. I swear (and I do an awful lot), you are an angel in disguise. (That will probably make you laugh or perhaps, chortle a little, but that's fine with me.)
I received a really amazing note from an editor I found through LinkedIn (yeah, it actually worked!) who loved my synopsis. Loved the quality of my writing. (I send you love and happiness and whatever the hell else you want!) Holy Toledo, Batman!
All I can say is I must be getting better (at writing) with practice. At my last job (vile, awful), I relished when I had to send someone a memo on who knows what. That's completely irrelevant. But there was always someone to tweak, a need for extra subtlety...and all sorts of fun shit while played the dumb innocent. I loved when people came up draft in hand, "Fran. change this! Change that!" And boy were they bracing for a fight. But they didn't know who they were dealing with.
Did they really think I cared enough to fight about this? Did they realize that whatever, no really whatever, they wanted...I gave them "Sure, I can do that," "okay," "no problem." I think they were really disappointed they didn't get to argue. It really pissed them off. And oh yeah, I revised their stinking memos but despite the very important changes, those docs always said whatever I wanted them to say. And they never caught on!
This is what it's like living in a world with people who are unable to construct a sentence, misuse words, eat jargon as fast as their little jaws can munch. They think jargon makes them look smart, up to the minute, like they know what they're doing. It's silly subterfuge. So I lived in a hole of an office as a maniacal memo writer. Amusing only myself. Ah well. Maybe this time I'll be able to amuse others- in a more substantive way. I sure hope so.
Did I tell you I love Rich?