My friend, Marti, is my first reader. She tells me what she sees, points out my errors and in general functions as my best-friendly-editor.
She should be given an extra jewel in her crown for all she does for me.
But aside from that, Marti has developed a new talent- psychoanalyst.
"Hey," she says, calling me to review some more of my manuscript. "I can tell what mood you're in when you write."
Huh?
"Well, look, at pages 78-83. Your characters swear up a storm in that section. But on pages 84-91, they're back to being nice to each other." She points out at least five more examples and as she does, I suddenly recall how I felt at the time I wrote those passages.
Damn, if she isn't 100% correct.
It's eerie the way the unconscious works.
And I'll tell you another thing too, I don't like it! This paper-thin transparency is for the birds.
But wasn't my bff smart to discover this?
I wonder what else is hidden inside my novels? All I've ever been able to spot is how often I mention coffee when I'm try to write and I'm tired...
I sure could go for a cup of coffee about now..."Marion stretched and looked longingly at her coffee pot. If only I could teach it to fetch," she thought...
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