People think writing a book is some glamorous lightning-strike inspiration. Cute. I’m here in the trenches, crossing T’s, dotting I’s, and wrestling spreadsheets like they owe me money. The manuscript is alive, breathing lists and nerdy details, and I’m chasing every last one into order.
Step one: Apple Pages. Why? because that’s the computer I am using. Step two: .txt files. Why? so I can transfer this manuscript from one platform to another without messing up any formatting. At this point, I just need the word… Step three: Word docs. Why? because that’s where the size of the book, with the right margins are set up.. then I go to Step four: PDF. Why? because the publisher takes an upload this way – a finished product.. By the time it hits the publisher, it’s been through more formats than a DJ at a block party. And yes, the spreadsheet is real…columns, rows, and formulas making sure nothing gets left behind. Every misplaced bullet point is a personal affront to my soul.
Backspace, delete, reposition. Change this sentence, that paragraph.. re-read. Re-edit.
Editing is its own kind of hustle. You don’t just read—you measure, move, cut, paste, and obsess over the tiniest detail because sloppy work can kill momentum. Most people don’t see this side. They picture coffee and a glowing laptop and think “writer life.” Reality: frustration, file conversions, and the weird satisfaction of seeing a list line up perfectly across three platforms.
But here’s the thing: this grind is exactly where WordGrit thrives. Attention to detail, hustle in the background, making chaos make sense. The manuscript is shaping up, inch by inch, file by file, spreadsheet by spreadsheet. And when it’s done, all this nerdy, meticulous labor will suddenly look like magic to anyone flipping pages. Until then, I’ll be here, caffeinated, formatting, and laughing at my own jokes while the work gets real.
Hustle harder, pay attention closer, and don’t let a single bullet point slip through. Because I have to remember why I’m doing this: the words are the bullets.
