Red ink and torn paper
Dear daughters,
You know I love it when you take an interest in the world around you, which is why I didn't complain last week, when I came back from a phone call to find the two of you scribbling over the printout of my latest manuscript. After all, you'd seen me poring over it, red pen in hand. Why not join in?
Watching me separate the novel into scenes, so I could evaluate each one in turn, must have looked such fun. Besides, who doesn't like throwing paper around? It doesn't matter. After the Donald Maass workshop I attended last year, I already planned to read the novel out of sequence, so I could add tension to every page.
But then we come to this morning's excitement.
I know all my printouts end up in the garbage sooner or later, and yes, I do tear them up before throwing them away, but not into quite such small pieces, and I usually wait until after I type up the handwritten changes I made. If you would keep that in mind for future reference, I'd be most grateful.
Love,
Your Dear Old Dad
PS: Where did you hide the sticky tape?
