I hate reading my own work out loud.
It's like holding a magnifying glass to my prose. I question every sentence, every punctuation mark. In this case, that's kind of the point. I've been reading The Changelings out loud to my aunt in order to do one final edit before I start to format. My aunt's a poet, so she's helpful at catching awkward phrasing and suggesting alternatives. Once we get into the chapter, it's kind of nice, because I can just ask directly whether or not something works instead of having to always guess.
But getting started always kills me. So I have my little ritual. My aunt sits on her favorite massage chair and I lay on the floor (which I find comfortable) and I hold onto my aunt's old stuffed Eeyore for moral support. Because I don't care how old you are, it's always nice to have something to squeeze when you're anxious and afraid.
Reading The Changelings out loud is one of the new things I've added to my schedule. Last week, I set up my End of Year Goals and, as the weather cools, I'm trying to get things done in a burst of fresh speed. I'm brainstorming for my upcoming Nanowrimo, finishing up Three Floating Coffins, and attempting to research formatting. I've also set up a bank account for my publishing company and I'm trying to get an author's photo taken on Sunday. Plus three subbing jobs this week at Brea Olinda High.