With only six weeks left before my deadline, the butterflies in my stomach have become F-16 fighter jets.
My plan has always been to submit my first book project to Beacon Hill Press before my deadline. I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen. Which means staying awake past nine at night and learning to drink coffee like big people.
Peace is foreign to me right now. I could really use your prayers.
My manuscript is not ready for publisher’s eyes, not polished enough. Each time I read through a chapter I cut and chop, add and tweak and wonder if this project will ever be good enough to warrant hitting my send button.
My book is going to be about twenty chapters long and will include approximately 50,000 words. My computer is a cluttered mess of documents and files. I’m swimming in a sea of books and magazines marked with quotes and references and never the one I want at hand.
Not a comforting environment for someone who is a disorganized perfectionist.
We came home last night from six beautiful days in Tennessee – a week long distraction. I lost six days of writing time and now the rest of my week is bulging with have-to’s – two graveyard shifts at work, hosting a marriage study, a birthday party, soccer games, in-laws coming over…
Funny how the topic I’m writing on (the captivity of activity and the bondage of busyness) is what I’m having to battle myself.