I recieved the proof copy of my book.  When I create, I listen to blues or jazz.  While editing, I work in complete silence.  Only the non-Dyson chopping blades of my oscillating fan offer background noise.  It's a serious time, even though it's a humorous book filled with funny short stories that still make me giggle while reading them.  

 I know, I know, I'm supposed to be focusing on the periods, the page numbers, the initial caps and such.  Yet, I have to reread each story as well.  There is no casual update to these edits.  My desktop died and with it my access to Word.  I am using Open Office on my netbook to write this and don't want to convert the whole document so I will have to do all of my edits at the library. 

Before uploading the file and submitting it for the proof I spent six straight hours in the library.  This being the final edit before sending the baby out to the cold, cruel world, I'm sure to spend at least the same amount of time.  

Perhaps this experience has changed me. I can feel the changes already.  As I've told my husband tonight, I am now an author.  That means that I'm no longer just crazy.  Nope, now I'm officially considered charmingly eccentric.