I sent my new novel to my wonderful editor today. I'm not sure if I want to dance or throw up! The novel is not polished yet, not by any stretch of the imagination; it's at the stage, though, where I know I could fiddle and fiddle with it indefinitely but it would be more fruitful to fiddle with it with her. We have until October to get it into shape; I have no idea how much work lies in front of me (probably a lot!) but I'm very eager--and a bit scared--to get her notes.
Oh, and I have a new title: Immensity. What do you think? My previous working title was My Life with the Lincolns, but that didn't fit as much once I shifted the narrative into third person and brought in another voice. I pulled the word Immensity from a quote from Mary Lincoln--she was relieved when her son's ghost sat on the foot of her bed because she had been worried about him being out "in immensity" all alone. I suppose the title could change again, but for now I really like this one.
Turning this manuscript in feels immense to me indeed. I wasn't sure I'd ever finish the beast, or give it a heartbeat. Hopefully it has enough life to sustain it now.