I’ve reached a new point in my writing career. I’m dizzy with the heights I’ve attained. I’m now able to complain about editors and their crazed and wacky work with a red pencil. I’m a member of the club called  Writers Scorned.  I wrote, I submitted, I sold and was paid for a devotional that sparkled like a little jewel. Then the editor hashed it all to heck AND, my name sits sedately below it. “I did not write that!” I shout for all the writer’s world to hear, “I wrote something that sounded infinitely better than that.” Yes, I took the twenty bucks they paid me and kept the thank you letter and anxiously awaited the free copy of the devotional quarterly.  But… when I cracked it open and found my little jewel, alas, it had been tampered with, chopped and changed, EDITED. I have a new notch on my writer’s belt–I’ve been wrongly edited. Now I can swagger with all the rest at the writer’s conferences because I too have been accosted by devious red pencils. I’m no longer a newbie; I’ve got experience.