Here’s the scoop… Two weeks of leave from my job. Final polish of the final draft. Agent query.
The house is as clean as it ever is, lately. I’ve got coffee, tea, sticky notes in five colours, my favourite hoodie, Patti Smith on repeat, my trusty laptop (even if the “L” key has been half-eaten by a cat). If I can’t get this done and dusted, I have no right to call myself a professional writer.
What I’ve done before this point: shared Draft 2 with my writing group, and used their input to re-draft the first 45,000 words.
What I still have to do: unfuck the last 35,000 words. Write the pitch. Figure out which agents will like it, and query them.
Why I suck: this could have been done a year ago.
Why I rock: it is getting done now.
What else I can do if I finish ahead of schedule: 2 stories to fix and send out; 1 story to finish and find someone to critique; writerly business such as registering for Readercon and buying plane tickets; and if all those things get done, I’ll be so chuffed that I’ll grab my pretentious cane and swan around town with my collar up, Being A Writer.