I just counted 19 hences, three “chock full o'”s, 20 myriads.
Hence has become my real transitional weakness. Use it, over use it, then over over over use it.
Tightening up a book is extremely hard. I’ve written 177,000 words for a book that’s supposed to be, oh, 160,000. Sometimes publishing houses will bend, and I hope that’s the case here. I’ve never, ever researching anything like I’ve researched this. It’s, by far, the most information-backed thing I’ve ever written.
The other thing I’ve down is reduced the clowning. When I look back at The Bad Guys Won!, well, I like it, but waaaay too many “He was fatter than a …” sort of gags. I suppose that’s OK, contextually (the ’86 Mets were a pretty light topic), but here it wouldn’t work.
I’ve been at this h-a-r-d this week—usually from about 10:30 am until 2 or 3 in the morning. Locked in my basebment office, chugging Cokes and listening to Mutlu. Today I’m in Cosi, a break from the isolation. But, oddly, I now sorta miss the isolation.
Hmm.
