“Break-out novelists are willing to tear down and rebuild a manuscript until it works.” – Donald Maass, uber-agent

It has come to my attention that my latest book starts on page twenty-three. The problem is when you open it, there are pages one through twenty-two all just standing there in your way. They are funny pages, if I do say so myself. It’s really hard to beat a fist fight with a giant cartoon squirrel. But nonetheless, you want to get to the juicy stuff as soon as possible. I understand that, and I’m willing to work with you on it.

That’s why my writing sessions for the past two days have resembled not so much writing as weed whacking. Of course, some of the stuff on those twenty-two pages is going to be important later. It is a mystery, after all. There are clues hidden in them there jokes. So after I rip out all the dandelions, some of them have to get replanted on later pages. This is harder than it sounds. There is a strong desire to console myself with Oreos.

Okay, fine, I DID console myself with Oreos, but just that one time. And they were reduced fat Oreos, which is why I only feel a little bad about eating twice as many.

So someday when this sucker finally goes to press and all those OTHER people are reading it and thinking how easily it must have come together, you will know different. You will know I was hip deep in stinky fertilizer, wearing flowery garden gloves and revving up the power trimmer. You’ll know that under the makeup and the smile, I’ve got grass stains on my ass and dirt in my shoes.

But that’ll just be our little secret.