Another day, another reader review for the manuscript. Verdict: 90 percent ready. Sweet. Recorded three micro cassettes worth of suggestions and corrections. To the five who remain: you’ve been warned; I tape meetings. Pre-submit reader three earns an additional thank you, as they caught an embarrassing glitch others — myself included — missed.

Much of the feedback has been character related, which suggests the narrator is a credible mouthpiece, and that the plot works. Even more interesting, so far each reader focused much of their efforts on a different character, without prompting from me.

Very, very peculiar feeling when someone says, “Character X wouldn’t say _____. They would say ____.” It’s the right sort of odd. The real good kind, I mean.

The verdict of pre-submit number two: fast read, a little rough in few spots, one character needs less personality. Estimated percent done on a scale of zero to one hundred: eighty-five. While less effusive in their praise than the first reader, that’s understandable. Reader number two comes to the page with a more seasoned eye and a background in publishing. Better to hear it from someone in the biz than not hear it at all, and wonder what happened.

The problem of managing all this feedback quickly revealed itself. Eight readers times three-hundred and fifty-two pages is an unruly mash of loose paper. Working through each pile eight times seemed a bad idea. That kind of brute force repetition begets mistakes, including one most disastrous: drowning out the consensus.

The more times a comment recurs, the more valid it is; I give those sort the highest priority. The problem is how to keep them in view throughout the revision process. Reader one, two and five might agree the same character needs fine-tuning, but yours truly might miss the connection in the paper chase.

Like usual, The Wife saved the day. Her solution for managing all these edits: work from a single master copy. Where a reader identifies a character or plot issue, record the comment on the relevant page with their initials. Corrections in grammar and punctuation remain only on their copies for later attention. This way, the overlap in feedback leaps off the page. The other plus, is the possibility of testing reader ideas on other readers. Whoever goes last in this process has the hardest task, since they will have both the manuscript, plus the feedback from the seven before them.

It’s elegant suggestions like this that make me grateful for The Wife.

After a few false starts, work resumed on A Time for Dying. Budgeting a few days of percolation proved a sound decision after all. I sliced out two paragraphs which will likely find a home later in the story and charged again. Overall, I like the 16 pages, or roughly 4,700 words.

I’m itching to meet with the rest of The Eight and close the feedback loop on the novel, but they need more time. Can’t exactly complain. Free advice is the best there is. As it stands now — barring disaster — five are on track for a November finish. The first reader delivered ahead of schedule. The remaining two are wild cards, they might make early December, they might not. Only the passing of days will tell.

Working with a member of The Eight today felt like a first date, as in the first date ever in my life. The early moments were anxious and awkward. I might have drooled. Yes, I wanted the meeting, but all the same, I could wait another day. Or week. While I felt decent about the manuscript, one can never be one hundred percent certain of what one wrote. Did I neglect key points? A few minor ones, yes. Was the narrative lacking clarity or flow? Only in very small tracts.

The real win: the meeting eradicated my biggest fear, that based on reader feedback, months of hard revisions lay ahead. Not that the effort is a problem, it’s just that deep down, I considered the manuscript 90-95 percent in the pocket. And that was certainly one of The Eight’s opinion. Good thing, because to hear that it was 75 percent there was not something I could stomach, even over Eggs Benedict and sausage.

Tonight I shall sleep, and not dream about a suck story secretly replacing mine.