I thought I was getting nowhere in my book editing. My word count seemed to yoyo – Up and down – 41,000 then 31,000 – Words cut, words added – Scenes changed, scenes cut, and scenes added. It all seemed useless as if this would never end and this story would die from the millions of little cuts.

But I looked back at all the small changes and days of hundreds of words typed during silent morning, and saw that it had made a difference. The story was there, and it’s shape was leaner and faster and tighter. And my heart at last told me …

this was the story you were trying to write but didn’t know how to. This was the story you were afraid to tell. And in all the bad writing days where you wrote word by agonizing word, it has all come down to this – truth and light and warmth shining in dark frozen places.

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