So I figured out that if I write at a moderate pace (read SLOW) I can be finished with the first draft of this next book by the time my kids get out of school. This pleases me, as I feel I’ve lost quite a bit of writing time. But my goal was to be finished with both first drafts of both books that are due, and it appears I shall do so.
Then I’ll move on to editing and polishing and re-writing, and if I work hard, I can be finished before I go to the beach! (Though fitting Disney World in there is going to suck a bit. Ah, well.)
Which means that this summer doesn’t really leave much time for any “weird” projects, which is what I’d sort of left time to do this summer. But then again, maybe I’ll surprise myself. And have time for a weird project! I need to do SOMETHING, at any rate, because the time to get something into circulation is, of course, now, so that by the time I could maybe sell it, and write it, I’ll be finished with what I’ve got going on now.
It’s worthwhile to point out now that it’s no use comparing yourself to other authors — someone will always have a better deal than you, or more sales, or whatever. Better reviews. Something. I just have to keep working on what I’m working on, do the work I’m contracted to do, find joy in the books I’ve been paid to write. And I am. And wow, it’s great.
In other news, it’s only Tuesday night and I actually think that tomorrow I might start back into writing! Laundry’s caught up, I unpacked, I packaged a bunch of promo stuff to mail out, it’s all going well.
Oh, and I’m not sick! Yay! RT was so much fun and I didn’t get sick!
It did, however, leave me bursting with ideas. Some of them old that are still hanging around. Some of them fresh and new and gross and yucky but fuuuuun!!!!
On the other hand, hearing about Author X’s huge superdeal for like, ten books, and then seeing all the promo for it…and whatnot…well, let me say I am not immune to feeling…um, well, it’s not envy, because I have enough work to keep me going for another couple years.
It’s not envy, it’s feeling like I should be doing THAT, I should be going THERE, I should be writing my fingers to the bone to get more deals, more sales, more promo, more readers, more books, more, more, more…when I’m really writing at the pace that suits me best and I *could* do more but at the loss of other stuff, like a life.
And yes, I do fart around on the internet a little more than I should, but I can cut that back. It’s more like I feel like I should be writing every. Single. Spare. Minute. And frankly, I’ve done that, I’ve taken my Alphasmart with me everywhere and missed tv, and gone without doing lots of stuff to write, but…hell, I do what I do so that I can be home with my kids in the summer, and take time off to do stuff.
With a “normal” job, you take time off. You come “home” from work. You end your day. With writing…I wish I could say I wrote 9-5 (or whatever) and then boom, just…done. But I’m never finished. Except on those special days when I’m done with a book, finished the last draft, etc. But even then, there’s more to do, and I can never, or hardly ever, START and FINISH a project in one day.
So I never feel like I’m done.
There’s that.
But that’s just a bunch of babbling; I’m not in a bad place now or anything, I’m feeling fine about the work, and where I am, and what I’m doing. I’m not overwhelmed (yet) but I do feel…urgency. It’s time to get cracking, get to work, I still have almost a full novel to finish in rough draft before June 1 and then TWO to polish and edit, as well as complete a short story before September. It seems so far away but the summer is…difficult. To say the least.
So maybe I am feeling a bit overwhelmed after all, now that I think about it. Maybe I’m feeling like I’d better get on this train because it’s leaving the station and I’ve been sitting on the platform playing pinochle for too many days. I’d better get going because I don’t have time to dawdle, and I’d better do my best.
Maybe that’s it, really. That I think..what if I just…can’t? What if my best is…gone? And all I have is “phoning it in?” Maybe I”m worried that once I get down to the nitty gritty of it, that I won’t find that joy I know is in there, that it will be like pulling teeth again, that every word will burn and cut and have to be bled out of me, that I will spend more time slicing myself open than sewing myself shut. Yeah, maybe that’s it.
Or maybe it’s just late and I’m tired and I should go to sleep, because tomorrow I’m going to wake up and write the hell out of this muthahumpah.
M
PS — Boys with Bangs make me squeeeeeeeeeeeee!
