No more plot holes. No more rewrites. No more fixing.
I'm e-mailing it to my first writer acquaintence tonight. Sending it in the mail to others (and to the long-suffering Kate D.) as soon as I can get my ass to Kinkos.
Holy crap, I'm actually doing this. I know I'm not sending it to agents and editors yet, but I'm still nervous at the thought of someone who doesn't know and love me, someone in the biz with an objective eye, reading over this thing I've created. My people, my world, all 418 pages worth of it.
Okay, Wedding Widow, it's in your hands now. I've got to get started researching con men. The next book's not going to write itself.