Rule #4: You’re not done.
You spent six years writing your manifesto, working diligently to squeeze out all of your innermost thoughts and heartfelt opinions on everything from Nazi Germany to tomato paste, and figure that there’s just nothing left to do. Your masterpiece has been birthed, and should now be in the hands of a New York editor, who will more than likely only tell you of your genius, and thank you for working so hard to give the world such a magnificent present of perfection.
To put it lightly, that 1000 words, I mean pages, will need to be cut to about 500. This is mostly to get rid of redundancy, irrelevance, and general idiocy. Start reading now, and learn to be honest with yourself. This doesn’t need to be there; remove that; delete, delete, delete. It’s not gold, so you can afford to chuck it out. Please.
Here’s the thing: You always need another draft. Times five. Really.