I'll start with the simple stuff. I'm almost done my final editing pass of Daughters of Britain. I'll be sending that to my first Beta Reader probably tomorrow. Then I can concentrate on all the other stuff I need to do.
Most pressing after the editing, is trying to write a blurb for Sky Road Walker. That comes out in October, and October is always closer than I think it is. I'd like to get the blurb done and out of the way before the end of March. I hate writing blurbs so very much! I'll go through and reread the book in the hopes that it might inspire something epic.
Expect much groaning and gnashing of teeth in the next few weeks.
Also, I did a non-writing related interview for my good friend Jen. You know, the awesome woman behind the awesome game Blush. It's about demi-sexuality. You can read that here.
On other, much more cryptic news, I will be making an announcement soon that blows my own mind. Yes, it has to do with my writing career. No, I haven't a publishing contract (yet). It's something else, and I don't want to make a big announcement until the other party announces.
With this new thing, and with being able to go to Ad Astra, and it looking like I'll be able to attend When Worlds Collide, I no longer feel like I'm a hamster on a wheel - working like hell and getting nowhere.
The thing is, I've been struggling for so, so long to try and make something of myself in the writing world, that now that I'm starting to see the fruits of my labour (great reviews, the ability to go places, this new thing), I'm feeling really, really suspicious of it. I can't tell you why. It makes no sense to me either.
I've worked really bloody hard on this career. I have a lot more hard work to do if I ever want to get somewhere, but the ball is starting to roll. And I'm sitting here waiting for the other shoe to drop. I feel like I'll wake up tomorrow to find out it was all a ruse... that everything will vanish in a single puff of smoke.
The thing is, I've worked hard and the logical part of my brain is telling me that this small gain, this little thing, is something I deserve. Because I worked hard.
There's another part of my brain telling me that I don't deserve any of it and it'll all go away in a depressing instant.
Is it a small part of a latent imposter syndrome? Is it because of my anxiety? Is depression screwing with my head?
I don't know. I'm happier than I've ever been with my writing career.
And still, still, I'm sitting here, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
On that note, I have to finish the edits.