I feel as if I have lost control. I had it until a few minutes because I still had the last edited version of Burden. Now, I've sent the edited version, with my changes to the publisher. Unless I hear back from them, the next time I see Burden it might already be a book. I have no more control over this runaway train. How weird it that?
All my writerly neuroses are flooding in? What if it really sucks? What if my edits and changes were just pedestrian? Is the book too pretentious? Too boring?
If I bit my nails, they'd be down to ragged stumps by now. If I smoked I would be on my second pack.
Instead, I am feeling my stomach churn, the acids attacking the lining, not helped by the large cup of coffee I just had, on an empty stomach.
And yet, at the same time, I can't wait to hold Burden in my hands. Can't wait to trace my fingers over my name and read my own words, all typeset and official looking.
Okay, I need another cup of coffee now. Maybe a coke or two.