Pressure

I have book deadlines now, kids. And I'm talking deadlines. Like, I need to get them a 'sample' chapter (a real chapter as a sample of the direction I'm taking the book, so they can let me know if the voice or tone or language or content is somehow off) by January 12th. Three weeks from now, in other words. And I need to have the first whole QUARTER of the book to them less then two weeks after that. Then, like clockwork, another quarter of the book every 28 days or so until I'm done, in mid-April.

People, these are insane deadlines. I have no idea what possessed me to just sort of laugh and agree to them, other than the fact that they weren't really negotiable. (This book is going to be the second in a planned series, and they need to start releasing them next fall.)

So what did I do this weekend? If you guessed 'didn't write a single word or work on the book in any way, shape or form' you guessed correctly. Because, you know, insane deadlines get much less insane if you just ignore them and hide under a rock for a while.

Panic doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling right now. I'm sure I'll get it done, and maybe even somewhat on time. But I'm going to lose a large part of my mind in the process. Like so many things in life, I love thinking about writing a book, and I love having written a book. It's the actual doing that I'm not quite so crazy about.