The Husband is out of town until Friday. I should have the whole week to get my edits done, right?
Except I have friends who want to make plans every night this week.
I like my friends. Normally I wouldn't have a problem being that social. (Ok, I would, but I'd still do it. I find groups of any real size to be very tiring.)
Problem is, I haven't worked on the novel in days. I have no real excuses except wanting to spend more time with The Husband before he had to go out of town. (Noble excuse, in my own mind.)
I'm back to being sick of the novel. Not because I think it's bad, but because I'm pretty happy with it. And I'm tired of working on it. Isn't this close enough???
No. I want this novel done. Done done done. Outta my hair and out into the ether for good or ill. But it still needs to be done right.
And the only thing standing in my way is...me.
So Monday I went out and was social. Tonight is my writing group, and while that isn't writing, it is useful. So I hereby pledge that I will work hard Wednesday night and Thursday night, and quite possibly Friday if The Husband crashes out when he gets home. (He'll either be a walking zombie or totally wired, I give it 50/50 odds.)
So outta my way, me. I want this thing done this week if I can at all humanly do it. Then it's off for copy editing while I (gulp!) try to find a cover.