My neighbor is reading my book chapter by chapter as I do my comprehensive, final revisions. It's put the spark of discipline into the whole process, sorely needed because, as I've mentioned, time is of the essence.
She's actually a quite good reader for these purposes. She tells me what she likes (what worked), she asks questions (what didn't), and she likes it.* Never underestimate the power of a cheerleader when undertaking the thankless job of revision. She likes it so well she came round last night asking for more chapters. I was gone, I had no more fixed chapters, and it wasn't even one of those major cliffhanger chapter endings, just a minor one.
I suggested to her that she be a literary agent. It'd be handy to have one across the street, but that's not why. I still have my eye on... well, never mind. They're married men. I should really watch what I say, be professional, and all that. Anyway, she said she didn't know anything about it and of course she doesn't, but she's got the talent for it. She's what I call a thinking reader. She could learn the details of critical reading in a short time, I've no doubt.
In other news, I actually threatened someone with my writing the other day. My other neighbor (who happens to be a famous ex-soccer player and my reader's husband) was giving me shit over something or another and I told him he'd better watch it or I was going to write an unauthorized biography, including details of his preference for girly cocktails.
And a question: if one's babysitter's parents is going to be at the party one is attending whilst said babysitter is babysitting one's children, would it be best for one to not get as shnockered as one usually does?
Damn. I thought so.
* Not to worry; I've a critique group who hated plenty of stuff about my book, told me so, and made me fix it. I'm sincerely hoping this is why she likes it.