The proof copy has arrived and I've broken out the Big Editing Guns for this one:
At present, there are two digital copies floating around in the hands of early readers, and one paper copy (pictured) in the hands of my wife. She promises to not divorce me, despite the flat, listless prose, the horrifying lack of proper punctuation, and the abrupt ending. I've devoted a couple of hours (!) just reworking the introduction, which I find sluggish and dull. Not looking good for the other hundred-some pages.
All the same: I feel a surprising lightness in my chest just seeing my name on the hurriedly-composed cover. ("Crap! I need a subtitle? Um... OK.") It could be angina, but I have a sneaking feeling that it's pride. I'm not too proud to break out the clippers and duct-tape, though. No excuses for not seeing this through.