I have been editing two short stories for the last several weeks. Let me just state that short stories are not my strong point and if offered the choice between editing and a Brazilian wax job, I'd have to think about it for a minute. (And I'd choose editing, thank you very much.)
One is done and submitted. Well, as done as done can be. Seriously, you can pick at a story forever and at some point you just have to say enough.
The second is newer and has had fewer going overs than the first, but I think it is better written, so hopefully it won't be as tortuous to edit. My characters have to stop cussing so much, this I know. One edit, that was all I did was take out all the fucks and shits. For Pete's sake, just because I cuss like crazy (I blame my brothers), doesn't mean everyone who lives in my head needs to do so.
But any casual reader of this blog knows that I detest editing. So I've been very grumpy lately. But my house is clean due to the whole I-know-I-should-be-editing-but-this-mess-that-has-been-here-since-last-year-must-be-cleaned-right-now syndrome.
Plus, having this sprawled out across the desk is just distracting:
Thor sez: Shut up and adore me.
(Note the air paw-knead that accompanies the purr that can be felt while typing)