(no subject)

Epiphany of the Morning: Devin = Ziggy Stardust.

So far, it's a good day. I plan to spend a good portion of the rest of it sitting around, filling out mystery novel worksheets and coding and pounding out another hefty-sized portion of Darkness. Can we do 5500 words? Maybe!

We'll see how the day ends. I don't have to work till Friday, so, there's that

ALSO! I do not have the recipe for TGIFriday's Jack Daniel's Sauce.* I also haven't tried it out yet, either, so we'll see.

Today:
1. Got up at 9.30
2. Went walkies
3. Mailed out taxes (OMGSOLATE) and registration for the first writer's conference of my life. Gulp. Also, the editors from one of the presses I was going to submit a novel to are there. DOUBLE GULP. I have to have a completed novel by April 21st.
4. Uploaded web pages for lady_fox
5. 2500 3500 5000 words in Darkness
6. Schedule for the next three weeks to complete/tidy/prep Sophie novel for submission
7. E-mailed TM mods for a hiatus


*I have no idea if they're reading this. But.

(no subject)

So. Today, after freaking out for most of the afternoon in between coding pages and pounding out the last 10k of Darkness (or some of it) I wrote down my schedule for the next few weeks, in preparation for the local conference, on the white board.

This was after writing it down on my planning journal, writing it down twice for the friend who so sweetly allowed me to freak out all over him and then smacked me into getting organized, and then writing it down in a spiral notebook.

And then, when I was supposed to be relaxing and watching TV, I was reading through the mystery novel primer during commercials and writing down notes on a paper plate. I shit you not. I really need to learn to relax when I say I'm going to relax.

Still a nervous wreck but right now? I'm too goddamn tired to be a nervous wreck. I've walked twice today. I've written five thousand words in a novel that summarizes best as the slow decay of one man's mind through torture, rape, and isolation. I've plotting out my next three weeks' writing schedule around a conference and an interview with an editor that's driving me bugshit. I've played Diablo 2 for fifteen minutes at a time in between chunks of the novel, but. Even when I'm playing, I'm thinking of the next line. And I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to do Pen Bryton, Sophie, and work on outlining Storm and Nightmare all in one month. Goddess.

I'm not sure... gods. How many months do I have till Maui? I should have enough to do most of this. Why am I freaking out about this? Oh yeah. Conference. And then... gods. Um. I may wind up planning out the next five months of my life down to what I think I can get done every day. I foresee someone having to take notebooks and my laptop out of my hands by force.

You know, this is the first time I've found myself considering sleeping pills. Not that I should need them, once I actually make up my mind to go to bed after a day this intense, I usually sleep through the night. But.

I need to stop being so crazed is what I need. I can do this. And if I don't have ten novels for Maui, it's not going to kill anyone. Just because I write ten times as fast as the average person doesn't mean ...

goddammit. I don't have anything to prove to anyone. Why am I putting myself through this?

Possibly I do need therapy.