Feeling anxious and a touch inadequate at the moment, as though I am simply incapable of getting enough things done. It bugs me because normally I’m one of those people who can ALWAYS get EVERYTHING done. But I just had to send a guilt-ridden note of apology for not being able to focus to my beloved brother, and found myself explaining that it’s because I’m far away from home, staying in a bland business hotel in the north of England and working 12-hour (or more) days, with virtually no time to do or prepare for anything else – despite the fact that my first novel is out in 3 weeks, I’m on the radio for the first time ever the day before, I’m going to be on a number of panels at a book convention starting the day after, and I’ve got an almost-finished (but still UNfinished) manuscript on my computer, on my conscience, and due at my publisher’s in less than two months.
I read back what I’d written to him and thought, hmm. Maybe my head being a little less well-ordered than usual is not actually all that unreasonable.
The next two days are going to be killer. Next week will be pretty bad as well, although I’m hoping it’ll settle down to something more manageable by Wednesday; and by the end of the following week my part in The Project in the North will be over. But for the moment I think I’m going to try to go a bit easier on myself. The next book giveaway may be delayed until I feel I can give it due time and attention. I’m going to stop beating myself up about not being able to sit down at the computer at 9pm after a shattering day and bang out a couple thousand words of beautiful prose, or a witty blog post about the joys of authorship.
Everything will get done, eventually. I promise.