On rare occasions, my freak-outs lead me to reach very mature decisions. A totally proportional (read: minor) freak-out earlier today did just that.
I had just gotten back from a lengthy jaunt to Topanga Canyon, where I interviewed a star of stage and screen. (Okay, just screen.) My destination was just in the next county, but the next county is damn big! And very trafficky. So I left before 6 AM, hit the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf by 7:45, finished a very respectable super-rough outline for the finalfinalREALLYfinal draft of my middle-grade fantasy novel around 9, did four (FOUR!) writing exercises, and hit the final bit of road by 10. I got home close to 3. A long day with lots of driving, which always wearies me.
And then I heard the rattle of the mailman at my mailbox, and the swish-THUD of said mail landing in said box. I reached for it, and that’s when the freak-out happened.
“WHAT IF,” I muttered portentously, “there’s a query acceptance in here?”
Honestly—what alternate universe have I fallen into, where I’m muttering mini-prayers that a query wasn’t accepted? It ain’t right.
But see here: I have
- A new issue of Fibromyalgia AWARE to assign, edit, and yes, even to write for
- My new gig to take into account (if I get still another email account, it might just throw me over the edge)
- My self-imposed but immovable deadline of July 1 to finish my finalfinalREALLYfinal draft of the MG novel—and start submitting to agents
- Regular assignments, including a column and a newsletter to lay out
- The freelance assignments that have already been accepted, and the ones that have just been tossed good-naturedly at me (gotta love that!)
- And a vacation coming up. Which often is almost more stress than just staying here and working, because I have to work so hard before I go so I can work so hard when I come back so I can get rid of all that nasty relaxation that built up while I was away.
And so I reached the very mature conclusion that it would be the logical thing—for my mental health!—if I unrequired the mandatory 12 queries I have to send each month. (To be absolutely frank, I had already reduced the number required to eight. But still.)
The blog requirements continue, however—and a Fibromyalgia AWARE story is waiting to be drafted. So I’ll end here, practically buoyant with self-satisfaction, and save the hilarious story of my suddenly poor freeway navigation for another entry.