Now, would Driving And Crying have been as successful if named Sneezing and Editing? I think not.
Let me state two things that are indisputable facts in my life.
One I hate and detest editing.
Two I hate when what I think is just a bad allergy day turns out to be an "oh, I'm SICK" day.
But let us combine the two, because I do so love to torture myself. So, ibuprofen on board to beat back the fever delirium, Day-Quill on board to stem the tsunami of snot, hot tea to soothe the savage throat, I begin.
Yank out a random chapter, okay, not so random chapter from The Novel. (Technically, it is a random chunk because, here is a stranger fact: I don't write in chapters. Never have, never have been able to force myself to do so. It ruins my narrative flow. And no, I don't wander all the hell over the place like I think I'm Stephen King or something.)
Enter random chunk into its own little Word document.
Word count: 4100 (and change)
Contest limit: 2500
First massive edit. Word count: 3100. Say a bad word.
Second massive edit. Word count 2800. Say several bad words.
Indulge self in childish, petulant rant about how word limits are bogus and so like totally destroy the entire creative process. I'm an artist, damn it. I shouldn't be forced to follow stupid rules. If I need 2800 words to tell my story, I should have them!
Realize that Sutu doesn't really give a cold hairball for my artistic purity.
Begin massive edit number three.
Update: vicious edit number three complete. Word count: 2389.
Happy dance begun.
Story probably makes no freaking sense now.
Thor sez: Quit yer bitchin' and pick up that red pen.