So, gearing up for my book, at the end of the year, and working a full-time job....well, it's left me a little frazzled. I want to write, but work's got me too bleaurghed to do anything.
Although, today, I did get ahead a little. Things are going better.
Taking an author photo is a lot harder than I ever thought.
And I was in a strange place today. I was overwhelmed by what seems like a lot of stuff to do about my book, and I was in a nonsense little tizzy. Asked my old man what I'd do if I actually got fans and stuff, and he just laughed. Not at me, but this joyous happy little laugh. I asked him why he was laughing, and he said: writing is your dream, and I'm just so happy for you.
And then I realized how silly I am. Nothing else matters.
Because. I'm. A. Writer.
/flex
