“So, bidding on Evil Editor?”
I glanced over at the competition. I had no idea who she was—I had been slacking in the comments sections lately. Used to be I had everyone pegged. “Probably.” I shrugged noncommittally. Couldn’t let her know how important it was to me.
“I just found out about him last week,” she continued, practically breathless with excitement. “I’ve got a query letter in desperate need of editing.”
I gave her a flat look. “Really? That’s all you’re here for? You’re going to bid on the most brilliant editor around so he can look at a stupid query letter for you? You do know he does that for free on his blog, right?”
She shook her head. “No, the queue’s too long, it’d be at least two weeks. Plus, I want a full rewrite—none of those blue comments and here’s how to fix it crap. I want everything, like he did at the beginning.”
So she was someone to be reckoned with, after all. She might be a newbie, but she had obviously read the archives.
“What about you? Why are you bidding?”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. This writing exercise would mark the one year anniversary of my participation on his blog. It was special, and I wanted to let him know that, let him know how much I appreciated what he did for me and other writers. But there was another reason—even more important.
I sighed. “I need a babysitter.”