Yesterday I started reading proofs for Same Old Story, a task that is both exciting and nerve-wracking. What if my concentration flags and the printed book ends up containing some big stupid mistake? On the other hand, who wrote these interesting poems? I know that sounds hubristic, but typeset pages look so different from manuscript pages. That visual shift makes the work seem brand-new to me, as if I've never read these poems before, let alone composed them.
So far, I haven't experienced any "Oh, my God, this sucks" heart seizures. This may, of course, change at any moment. I still have a lot more proof-checking to accomplish.
In other news, I'm editing a book about sex, and it's a good read too: a sociological study of women's generational and life-course attitudes and full of verbatim transcripts and individual voices. A holiday gift for the academic copyeditor, apparently.