I am about to enter the last month of writing on this book. If I hope to meet my deadline, I will have to be consistently productive every single day — not easy when in the midst of it is a week long trip to a novelists’ retreat and a booksellers convention in California. I’ll be hauling along my laptop and hoping for a few pages here and there, in-between meetings with agent, editors, publishers, and other writers.
Should I panic yet about getting the blasted thing written in time? I think I should probably panic. But panic stops every creative thought I have, so it’s preferable that I don’t.
I’m at that place in my book when I wonder what on earth made me think I could ever write one in the first place. It makes no difference that this is book #40. I wonder it, all the same.