I'm staying out of this one, since my own issues with the repietition of "fail" and "guilt" as constant themes in this sort of essay would get in the way of rational editing.

But I will ask why on earth you have to emphasise that you are a Seattle mother. It read as if you thought Seattle was the last bastion of progressive motherhood.

I keep wanting to rewrite your essay in true-confession form, Susan.

"My daughter was starving to death...and it was my fault."

But seriously. I'd like a sentence about what being tongue-tied is and why it affects nursing. I also agree that the last sentence needs to be more positive--something like "I know I'm doing the best thing for my daughter and myself."

Because I'm submitting it to a Seattle magazine, deb. If I was going for a national market, it wouldn't be in there.

And I’m learning that even things that don’t turn out the way I planned as a parent can still turn out right.

Again, this could be tighter and would be more powerful so.

And I'm learning that even things that don't turn out the way I planned can turn out right.

Oh, DUH, deb. OK, scratch the Seattle question.

Thanks, Betsy and Ginger. I changed the last sentence and included a brief clause on the tongue tie thing.

Susan, that's better, but I would take Betsy's advice on the one final edit of the last sentence. But...do you "think" you "must have" done something right, or do you know? (I think you know, deep down, but this is your essay.) I don't want to make this rah-rah positive if that's not where you're going (and I know it's a personal essay, and a very personal subject), but I have my own issues about this (coming from where you did, and getting over those issues in a major way), so I might not be completely rational here.

I also agree with Ginger -- what's tongue-tie? I was tempted to look it up, but I'm too tired and lazy today.

Oops. Too late. Sorry. I'm working at half speed today. I think I'm coming down with something.

Tongue tie is when the little membrane attaching your tongue to the base of your mouth is restricting the tongue's range of motion too much. As such, it weakens a baby's suck, and in severe cases can cause speech impediments, though Annabel's is mild and seems to be resolving nicely on its own. (The essay explanation is shorter than that.)

I had a very good Freelancing Day. (Frequenters of Bitches may recall that I decided to stop trying to do everything every day, and that until I finish the Lucy edit, I have five Novel Days and one Freelancing Day per week.) I submitted the article posted above for consideration for a regional magazine--low pay, and pay upon publication rather than acceptance, but higher odds of acceptance. I also did two queries for medium-scale national magazines and sent some clips to a custom publisher who'd requested them in response to an inquiry I sent about a month ago.

So. I don't know that anything will come of this, but it sure felt good, and it's only 6:00 p.m. I have the rest of the evening for relaxing and housework and hanging out with DH and Annabel. And I think the queries I did were of better quality than what I was doing before, because instead of rushing through them so I could get one more thing checked off my list, I was really thinking about how interesting or important my topic was and why I wanted to write about it.

Next up: Making my next few Novel Days that productive so I can get my partials and synopses for the editor and agent from the conference mailed no later than the middle of next week.

A fateful encounter, the reverse of the romantic kind:

Intruder

She’s not expecting Jack that night, and in any case the last few days she’s been more tired than ever before in her life. Too many late nights, she thinks, and grins naughtily. So she goes to bed early and sleeps deep.

Yet she wakes instantly at the sound of a man climbing through her window.

“Jack?”

“Not Jack, Mrs. Arrington.” His laugh is cold.

Without conscious thought she reaches for the pistol on the table by the bed and rolls to sit upright, pistol cocked and aimed at the intruder.

“Get out. Or I will shoot.”

That laugh again. “You?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” The second. And this time she has some idea of what she’s doing.