I just shipped off my manuscript to San Diego and the fabulous managing editor on the job, David Hough. This morning, was the last time I will see the document before it appears in hardcover, my ego is in Mr. Hough's hands and that is a difficult intangible to hand over. Yet, the team has been great and I have no real reason to fear except fear itself. So you get the picture?

As I sailed out of Fed Ex I was gripped by the cold, skeletal fingers of terror.

You see, I had tons of corrections to make. Tons. Several are essential and I can do nothing except trust, which is not so very easy. For example:

will the several spellings of Clicquot be resolved to the correct one?

will Tao-Kalon turn into the proper, To-Kalon?

will Claude Leflaive get the correct sex and name change to Anne-Claude?

was I really behind Noelle Pangay instead of Noel Pinguet?

And what about some details that were questionable and I decided to give them the axe?

Just how forgiving are editors of uncorrected proofs?
I am hoping very. Because this week the galleys get sprinkled over the country and meanwhile, the warts are all exposed.