Yesterday, I turned Book 2 in to my editor.
Some of you might remember that I finished the first draft way back in October, just before I left for my big trip to New York. When I got back from New York, I realized the draft was all wrong (with the help of my lovely crit partners) and so...I scrapped it. Everything after Chapter 3. And started over.
Which, to be honest, led to some rather frantic writing. It took me half a year to write the first draft, and I only had a month to write the second? But I lowered my head and did it. I rushed it off to my agent, who had a few (spot-on) comments, stayed up all weekend, polished the draft, and pulled an all-nighter on Sunday night to email in the final draft of the manuscript to my editor at 5:30 am.
I slept Monday.
But as soon as I had sent off the manuscript, a little worm started nibbling in my ear. What next? it said. You didn't quite get that one plot-point right, did you? You'd better go ahead and start working on that. And don't forget about the Epic Contest of Epic. And dude--you haven't even thought about doing Christmas cards yet. Or baking cookies. Or washing dishes. You're out of clean clothes. And there may be a Christmas tree on your porch, but it's not in the living room and decorated, is it?
And the panic set in.
So much to do. So. MUCH.
So I collapsed on the couch and pulled my laptop into my lap and opened my email and looked at the sixty emails waiting on me, and I took a deep breath...
...and my dog collapsed beside me and snuggled his head into my leg.
And I smiled.
And shut the laptop.
Flicked on Samantha Brown and watched her tour Italy.
Petted the dog.
And remembered to breathe.