I'm in one of those extreme self-doubt moods. Like I always get when I finish a manuscript. And I go back through and say to myself, you can't say shit like this, Drew, and I cut stuff out. Then I put it back in.Then I cut it out.
Then I don't sleep. Sometimes, I'll lie awake at night because I'll think about some arbitrary paragraph that I feel suddenly compelled to insert in the most random part of a book, and it keeps me awake all night until I finally do it. That happened this morning (3 AM, as usual).
Or, I'll think about one word... and I know exactly where that word is, and it's been bothering me for months and so I finally go to that one precise word and change it and it feels like when a scab falls off.
That happened last night, too.
Crap.
Yesterday, I got a message from one of the sweetest people on the planet, literary agent Jen Rofe, who told me she was in the Barnes and Noble in Santa Monica, California, and saw that they had Ghost Medicine face out on the shelf. That made my day.
They obviously haven't received the ignore at all costs memo on me in Santa Monica yet.
