Resistance is Futile and Amusing (Part 2)

So that creamy blue zen I spoke of in my last post? Where I was all leafy and the world was all watery and I was like Wash in that I was floating gracefully along (at least until that fuckergentleman Whedon punched a hole in his chest)?

My eyes are up here, you greasy bastard

That peace of mind lasted for about a week, long enough to spread my enthusiasm among my family and close friends. Then, with the onset of NaNoWriMo, the gravity of what I'd actually gotten myself into hit me like a rogue asteroid smashing into a Class T planet. And I'm the asteroid. Suddenly, I have a deadline for getting my next book drafted. That draft will be handed directly over to editors to tear apart and rebuild as something publishable. Suddenly, people are expecting me to perform, and perform well. My time spent writing isn't pie-in-the-sky ambition anymore; it's solicited and will be treated as such. Suddenly, my writing and I are exposed to the wider world. No longer am I safely sailing the void incognito, free to poke and prod and spout without being noticed, my cloaking device powered by the endless energy of anonymity. When Angry Robot announced that Cassandra Rose Clarke and I were the first two authors signed through the Open Door Month, my blog traffic increased 1,800% in a single day. Suddenly, people are paying attention to me.

But hey, I'm calm under pressure. No, that is not shit in my pants you smell.

Having a dream materialize before your eyes means taking it on toe-to-toe: elation, excitement, fear, and all the rest of it. Head down, caffeine levels up, fingers flying. It's time to prove myself worthy of the amazing opportunity the Robot Overlords have given me. This isn't just a hobby anymore.