I went out for coffee with one of my girlfriends yesterday, and the conversation worked its way around to writing. She says she loves editing, and offered to take a look at some of my work. She quickly qualified this offer by saying, "if you're not ready, I understand. It can be hard to release your children into the world."
I've been thinking about that this morning. My writing is precious to me, and I have labored over every phrase. However, I am not clinging to my babies to keep them in the nest. My writing is more like a really dramatic teenager: I want it to leave, in fact I'm at a point where I would give it away, but for some reason it's still there every day, glaring at me.
Wonder if this is because I work with and write for teens? But even my adult fiction refuses to fly away.
Maybe I'm just a bad mother. :)