I is for Iron

I is for Iron, R is for Revisions-Nary the two shall meet?

I hate to iron. Let me count the ways. Pants, shirts, dresses, skirts, underwear… Underwear? Yes, I’ve heard people iron their underwear. Don’t worry, I’m not one of them. I know, TMI, but how many writers do you know who haven’t exposed a piece of themselves to better a story? So this morning, with a lack of any pressed work clothes, I had to drag out the monster iron that always seems to do more damage than making clothes any more presentable.

No kidding?

Did I mention I hate to iron? I must have been a laundress in a former life. So once I cleared off the hideous ironing board containing every wrinkled pair of work pants and tops I own-I’m still waiting for someone to create fashionable clothing that never wrinkles no matter how long it’s left in the dryer-I got down the dirty task of ironing.
I really, really, really hate to iron. Can I say that enough?

Okay, the first pair of pants is on the board. I get the squirt bottle out because I’ve discovered it’s easier to get the deep wrinkles out while the pants are wet. Too bad this tactic doesn’t work on the face. I’m pressing away on the first leg. Top side done. Yes. Flip over. Damn. Several deep creases down the back. Grab the water bottle. Wet clothes. Press the living daylights out of back side of leg. Flip over. ACK! More creases on front side. There is now more steam coming out of my ears than the pants. I hate to iron.

Which brings me to revisions. Very few writers can spout out a clean, coherent manuscript the first time around. So what does that mean? Revisions. Revisions remind me of ironing-although I like to revise. Smooth out a wrinkle here and create another wrinkle somewhere else. Change something in one scene, and you need to make sure you’ve made the corresponding changes in the rest of the manuscript. No one said it would be easy, but soon you’ll have creaseless pants and a well polished manuscript.

I agonize over certain things, and I take a lot longer to make sure the final product is ready to go out the door. So in the time it would take a normal person to go through the entire pile, I’ve pressed one pair of pants and a shirt.
Now is not the time to discuss the fact I spilled coffee on my brand spanking new ironed pants today that will now have to meet Mr. Washer and Mr. Iron instead of Mrs. Hanger before they grace my feminine curves again. I hate to iron, but throw all the revisions you want my way. Because when I sell that manuscript, I’ll be able to pay someone to iron for me!