Yup, it’s that time of year. I’m done as a writer as of a few weeks back when I had a nervous breakdown over the damn Harlequin BLAZE I was 9k from finishing. I became frustrated when I was trying to bang out (literally) every single word for the last 2k. It was NOT fun and I destroyed things in the house, etc. This is NOT a typical tantrum for me. Only the second one I’ve ever had as a writer.
As a male, and a romance writer I rarely am truly allowed to break down over what it perceived as stupid shit. Yet I did. This book was supposed to launch me into a new realm of royalties, elbow rubbing and fame (HA!) as I climbed up the Harlequin ladder. But, as my publicist (whom I apparently yelled at) said, I’m done. Stress has reached an all time high and I blamed and took it out on the book.
Everyone has to give you the “maybe you didn’t want it” line. Bullshit. The reality is that all year long I’ve busted my ass with not a break in sight. I’ve done two cons, looking at doing three next year and those drain me. I have a bad heart and a worse working ethic that deigns I work my ass off and keep working my ass off until I’m dead, rich or famous. Preferably two out of three.
Now I’ve added editing to my repertoire as I mull through submissions for Sizzler Intoxications and the erotic romance anthologies. I’m really excited about all of that actually, bringing work to life by new writers and giving them more confidence to write is an amazing feeling. And I’m glad I can make dreams come true.
But I’m winding down. Hell, today I have a meeting with my publisher and I’m bringing a cigar or my pipe. Can’t decide which yet. But we have much to discuss and it can be done outside away form the laptops and confines of her office.
There are only two more weeks of the year left. I deserve a break So do you probably!