Eleven days to go
I’m strangely calm.
I should be terrified or worried or harried or something, right? I should be pitching a fit, with tears, over something small and insignificant.
I’m actually more worried about how I’m going to get my house clean for the visitors I’ll have for my launch party than I am about anything related to The Black Hour.
Best guess: I worried early. I was harried a year ago. I’ll be terrified when I go to stand up and read in front of just about everyone I know in Chicago. But for now…
I feel grateful instead of worried. I feel prepared and supported instead of rushed and crazy. There are lots more things I could be doing but I also think—wow, maybe I should just take a breath and enjoy these last few days. Because it’s on like Donkey Kong July 8.
The summer is going to go ridiculously fast. And then the fall will be just as ridiculous. And then I have to turn in my next book.
So there are things I need to worry about, but they don’t have much to do with the day the book finally arrives on bookshelves or even the day I have to stand up in front of a hoard of friends and family.
I guess I’m ready for my book to be out. It’s been a long road, but I picked up a lot of knowledge and friends on the way.
Maybe my debut author freakout happens at Day 10.