Tuesday, March 01, 2011

Dragging My Sorry Ass To The Finish

My editor recently granted me me another 2 weeks extension to deliver the 3rd book in my Granny Apples series. It's tentatively titled Ghost on the Gallows.  In the past I've needed extensions, but not like this.  It's not that the book is dragging. It's not. It's moving along nicely and has been a lot of fun to write.

It's me that's dragging. Dragging like a rusty muffler scraping the pavement.

In December I took a little time off from writing to enjoy the holidays.  I was still writing. I write nearly every day. But instead of pushing myself, for a few weeks I enjoyed my life and my friends.  I needed it desperately. Since just before Thanksgiving I have been plagued with small injuries and health issues, one after the other. As I said, small ones and fixable, but things that needed attention and more rest than usual. In January, just as I was getting back into hard core writing, I did something stupid that injured my left shoulder. That slowed me down a bit. It was nearly healed when I hit the unfriendly skies for book events in Birmingham. At the airport I fell and reinjured it, this time badly, along with my left knee. Let me tell you, it's difficult to type for long periods of time with a shoulder you can't move high enough to even put on deodorant. The shoulder is almost well, not quite, but almost. The knee is mending, too.

As I've said many times before, I'm an old broad, and it's finally catching up to my body.  Dammit!

Then there's the day job.  Two years ago my day job quieted down. I was busy but not running wild.  All that changed last year when our firm went berserk with work. Now I'm busy all day, every day. We're so busy I didn't even take a day off to nurse my shoulder. Then again, why should I? I didn't take time off from my writing to nurse it.

Between the two obligations, some days I feel like a machine. I get  up, check for cat poop on the carpet, and sit down at the computer ready to work on my books. A few hours later, I get up, shower and head to the office. I do this over and over and over - days, weeks and months melting one into another like a bowl of Hershey Kisses left in the sun, not even sure some mornings if it's Wednesday or Saturday.

Okay, now lest you think this is a post about whining, think again.

I chose this life. I chose to write as much as I do. To work the day job I have. Both are my dream jobs. Mmm, well, maybe that's not exactly true. When asked this past weekend what would be my ideal career if I wasn't a writer, I replied: "Independently wealthy. That's an occupation, isn't it?"

But seriously, I am living my dream of being a published author. Every time I see one of my books in a library or a book store, the reality of my dream hits my heart as accurately as one of Cupid's romance arrows. When I read comments from readers in e-mail and on my Facebook page, another happy arrow pierces my heart. My goal wasn't just to be a published author, but to write things that would make people happy and smile. I wanted to bring a bit of fun and joy to readers' lives.  Doing that brings me happiness and joy.

Okay. Enough of this shilly-shallying.  I have a book to finish in exactly 14 days!

But first, I must tie up my saggy muffler.