The line-edited version of my novel manuscript is back, and now I'm a neurotic, whining mess. I mean, I have to read the whole shebang and approve or argue against the corrections (For instance, it seems that even though my mother was English, I don't get to use "towards" rather than "toward."), but am so not allowed to make big changes. I've never read this manuscript and not made big changes. Ever. I already know of sentences that need fixing. I'm going to have public bad sentence shame. And now my heartbeat is wildly erratic. If I have a heart attack, will my book still go to print? I think it will. And will probably sell more copies. So, really, even if I die right now, the novel will exist. Whew. This is a pulse-soothing thought.
P.S. An if-I-should-die final request - let me use "towards."