The last few weeks before a book manuscript is due is kind of like childbirth. And not the kind of childbirth where you’ve been given an epidural and are applying lip gloss for your video debut…more like the kind of childbirth without the pain meds- except you want the pain meds. Badly.
After months of joyous anticipation filled with title-daydreams and catchy unicorn-rainbow covers, suddenly I realize I have to complete this overwhelming task. I have this unbearable urge to scream at the top of my lungs and throw things at my husband.
Paul -I fired that hairbrush after you left the room. What? You felt it whizz by your head? You are mistaken sweetheart.
This week has been filled with tears, discouragement, and an overwhelming pressure to get this thing out of me.
I am pushing and groaning, weeping and grunting. I don’t care who is in the room right now as I type this. I’ve lost all sense of discretion and dignity.
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