Editing Samples

BEFORE

BACK COVER

When I fell in love, I didn’t need books to tell me how to behave or what to feel. And when my husband died and my love became grief, I didn’t need validation for that either. Why would I turn to someone else’s ideas about my own feelings? It all felt wrong to me, and it just wasn’t what I was experiencing.

Not only did traditional grief work not help me, it made me feel guilty. I wasn’t “on track” the way other people thought I should be. So, I gave myself permission to metaphorically fall to my knees and bang my head on the floor.

This book is about grieving any way you want and need to—written by someone who took the journey, survived it, and now lives without loss.

AFTER

BACK COVER

When I fell in love, I didn’t need books to tell me how to behave or what to feel. And when my husband died and my love became grief, I didn’t need validation for that either. Why would I turn to someone else’s ideas about my own feelings? It all felt wrong to me, and it just wasn’t what I was experiencing.

Not only did traditional grief work not help me, it made me feel guilty. I wasn’t “on track” the way other people thought I should be. So, I gave myself permission to metaphorically fall to my knees and bang my head on the floor.

This book is about grieving any way you want and need to—written by someone who took the journey, survived it, and now lives without loss.

********************************************************************************************************************

BEFORE

The gallery owner had been the unsuspecting star of Robert’s fantasies for months. He’d witnessed the drive-by shooting the previous year because he’d been following Cynthia. Caught in the crossfire, she’d been wounded. He’d helped the police identify the vehicles involved, thereby aiding in the assailants’ arrests. He’d sent flowers to the hospital—anonymously. Now when he wasn’t working as Councilwoman Sommerville’s chief of staff and chief accountant at her real estate office, he spent his spare time following his Cynthia, watching her from afar.

Some months after he’d accepted the position Margo offered him at her brokerage, he’d been bold enough to enter Kaufman Gallery, pretending to be a potential client. He insisted the proprietress see him immediately to personally advise him on the vast quantity of artwork he planned to purchase. His pulse had raced. The audacity of his demand and the possibility of speaking face to face with Cynthia Kaufman were almost too much for him to bear all at once. He was furious with himself for not being aware of her plans when he learned that she had left that morning to attend the grand opening of her new gallery in Santa Fe and wouldn’t return for at least two days. Rather than follow her to Santa Fe, Robert had spent those two days in agony.

Robert spent months poring over everything he could find on gays and lesbians and conversion therapies and the intervention techniques used with alcoholics and other addicts. He was convinced some sort of intervention might be a useful tool in his quest to free his beloved Cynthia from her harmful existence. He’d recently discovered an Apache Junction group called Exitus Acta Probat, Latin for “The result justifies the deed.”

AFTER

The gallery owner had been the unsuspecting star of Robert’s fantasies for months. He’d witnessed the drive-by shooting the previous year because he’d been following Cynthia. Caught in the crossfire, she’d been wounded. He’d helped the police identify the vehicles involved, thereby aiding in the assailants’ arrests. He’d sent flowers to the hospital—anonymously. Now when he wasn’t working as Councilwoman Sommerville’s chief of staff and chief accountant at her real estate office, he spent his spare time following his Cynthia, watching her from afar.

Some months after he’d accepted the position Margo offered him at her brokerage, he’d been bold enough to enter Kaufman Gallery, pretending to be a potential client. He insisted the proprietress see him immediately to personally advise him on the vast quantity of artwork he planned to purchase. His pulse had raced. The audacity of his demand and the possibility of speaking face to face with Cynthia Kaufman were almost too much for him to bear all at once. He was furious with himself for not being aware of her plans when he learned that she had left that morning to attend the grand opening of her new gallery in Santa Fe and wouldn’t return for at least two days. Rather than follow her to Santa Fe, Robert had spent those two days in agony.

Robert spent months poring over everything he could find on gays and lesbians and conversion therapies and the intervention techniques used with alcoholics and other addicts. He was convinced some sort of intervention might be a useful tool in his quest to free his beloved Cynthia from her harmful existence. He’d recently discovered an Apache Junction group called Exitus [JE1] Acta Probat, Latin for “The result justifies the deed.”


 [JE1]No italics when foreign word is proper noun

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