Ever since I found out I was going to San Diego my planning and writing has changed, and not always in a good way. I think I squeed so hard I popped something mentally: HOLY SHIT, says she, THIS IS FOR REALSIES. Time to go hard, or go home.
Initiate Sequence: MEEP.
So now everything I've been writing, or attempted to start, since the start of the year has looked like utter shyte. I can't finish a damn thing, and I am in no way satisfied with anything. Wurdz: how do I do them? Dude, says my bloorped out brain, you're making a step towards The Byg Tymes, you think you can hang with the cool crowd? Hahahahahah.
Yeah, thanks brain.
It hasn't helped that I haven't made a sale since August last year. That's over seven months now. I feel time ticking down, a Big Number Birthday is coming, and I'm supposed to be more All Of The Output and Famouser than this. Do editors hate seeing me on the slush pile all the time? Who have I secretly pissed off with my rampant wombat Godzilla slippers of stompiness? Am I suddenly plunging some unknown depths of suckage? Is it really just stupid dumb luck that I haven't found the right wall for my current manuscripts to stick against? Look at all those OTHER cool kids who are making sales and taking names and putting my output to utter shame.
Yeah, THANKS BRAIN. You're NOT HELPING.
Meanwhile, in the red corner of Pummelling the Author's Brain into Scary Super Mush, we have my Clarion prep. I must read ALL THE THINGS by my instructors. I must absorb ALL THE ADVICE from previous attendees. I must devise ALL THE QUESTIONS any intelligent looking student should ask. I must remember HOW TO BE EDUMACATING even though I haven't stepped in a classroom in over 15 years. I must pretend I'm GOOD AT TEH CRITIQUING. I must remember HOW TO ADULT IN ADULT COMPANY and not fall on my squirrel-chattering face (erm, too late). I have to book flights, and holiday thingees, and sort visa stuff, and oh my god you're mentally packing already and how many pairs of underwear do I really need for almost 2 months away from home, and my cat is going to HATE ME when I get home.
I'm a growed up. I can do these things.
Shut up, brain.
But as much as it's scaring the ever loving crud out of me...
Here is the mountain. I'm jumping off anyway.
Screaming all the way down, half terrified, half ecstatic. And hoping at least for some sort of soft landing.
Hang in there brain, we can do this.