Today an hour's session of writing turned into two, the way it does when you become absorbed. I worked and worked on the story I'm trying to submit; first getting rid of kinks and weaknesses, then polishing the language, and finally I had to cut until it hurt to fit the word count guidelines.
As before when editing short stories, I felt overwhelmed by the time it took to do that for a little scrap of 1, 200 words; how on earth am I going to thoroughly edit and cut my enormous manuscript?
I've now printed the story off to read tomorrow, in case the drastic cutting has led to any unsightly amputations of thought or muddles of plot. After that, I must send it as it is, or miss my self-imposed deadline just to keep tweaking; and then I have another story to give the same treatment to.
Trying to keep positive and have taped the mouth of the inner critic so I can only hear her mumbling...