Oh poor me, I have been forced to drop my Nanowrimo novel to address the one-ton pile of paper that is the copyedited version my novel, "Breakup Babe." Oh, but if I could only get up a few hours earlier I might be able to do both but we have already established that nine hours of sleep is crucial to my well-being so sleep-deprivation is not an option!

If I ever thought I had copyediting skills (and I am an editor, remember) this copyeditor puts me to shame. I can see just see her now in her cramped Manhattan apartment, hip little glasses perched on the end of her pointy noise, addressing the less-than-brilliant-but-perfectly-functional-sentence: "My voice sounded high and quavery.": "Author: quavery means tremulous; wavery means to wave." Yeah OK fine. Whatever. Or this bit of overwrought prose. "But of course he died anyway, the bastard, without any parting words for me other than a gurgling death rattle." "Author: death rattles are gurgles." Right. Well I knew that - I was just testing you!

(Heh heh, bet you didn't know there were people dying with gurling death rattles in my book, DID YOU?)

Well it's been fun chatting with you for a few brief moments. But now it is time for me to go slither into my technical editor hole - the deep dark place where a little bit more of my bloom fades every day and there is no one to appreciate my shiny hair except tie-dye-clad developers.

Asta la vista.