Ladies and Gentleman, mark this hour: The edit, she is finito.

And may I just say, it is a far, far better thing than I have done… than… something.

(Yes, I majored in English. Can you tell?) I tell you, it’s really scary when you finish an edit and you can tell how much better your final copy is than your previous four or five versions. But that’s what has happened. And, barring any unforeseen entanglement, like the Mailbox Store disappearing into a parallel dimensional vortex between now and tomorrow morning at Eight A.M., it’s outta here. She shoots, she scores!

Okay. Sports analogies. You know it’s time for this non-jock to faceplant somewhere.
Thanks for listening to all of my rants and whining, people. Promise I’ll do the same for you.

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