Yesterday began what is damn close to being the final edits to REAPER. You remember that one – the book that NaNoWriMo forced out of me like ipecac? The two most competent Beta Readers I know got back to me with some fantastic tweak notes and I’m putting them to good use. After this, it’s final touches and BAM – I’m ready for serious, no holding back submitting.
But then today I had a NERVOUS FUCKING BREAKDOWN.
Out of absolutely nowhere, as I sat down to continue work on the edits was, “Jesus butt-fucking-christ I am a TERRIBLE writer. Who in their write mind would read this garbage? This? THIS is what I’m expecting people to publish?”
And then I cried. I cried for a fucking hour with a Harry Potter movie in the background and gummi bears melting in my hand. It was when the snot ran like a faucet that I had a thought.
I have The Fear.
The fear that I just might fail. That after all this work (7, possibly 8 long months) on ONE BOOK that’s at SUCH an awkward word count that I STILL don’t know whether to call it a novel or novella, that I’ll get rejected. Rejected like whoa.
Of course I’m going to get rejected. We ALL do. (And if we don’t, we’re fucking LIARS).
So when I do get that first rejection, you can be DAMN SURE I’m going to post that shit loud and proud above my desk.
After the whiskey. Cause whiskey.
You rock.
That’s all.
Does whiskey actually help with the Fear? Because I’m not thrilled with tequila’s prowess.
It does, indeed. Whiskey has magic powers.