My deadline is looming. By the 20th of February I have to have furnished my lovely publisher with the manuscript for Containment. That is only 26 days away.
It is school holidays, the kids are home, I've had guests to stay, the house looks like a bombsite, courtesy of my resolution to avoid housework. That resolution has driven home the realisation that if I don't do it - no one else does. Bum. I've been working frantically in snatches between the lovely demands of being Mum and host and wife and sister and friend and everything and by rights I should be freaking out about now!
But I'm not.
The freaking out sensation has been replaced by excitement.
I find myself excited by the prospect of racing towards a target, that this novel which has been, to be honest, a struggle for me is finally coming together, forming into a cohesive whole. And if I was going to be completely honest, I'd have to say I'm going to thrilled when this one is over and I can get cracking on the next one which is banging around in my head and demanding my attention more and more and I've had to say, no, get back you buzzard, wait until I've finished the other book before you take over my life.
Sometimes I think I'm a strange little critter. Maybe I'm the type of person who needs pressure to be able to really crack on and get the job done. That might explain why I let my life get rather full. What ever the reason, I find myself reveling in the fact this date is looming and I'm busy as hell, and working my butt off and still have a heap to do, and I wouldn't swap it for the world.
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1 comment:
Go Vanda!
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