I am working myself to the bone and I’m sure it’s affecting my health at this point. I’ve had seven pots of coffee to get through today, and I still passed out on the couch with my computer in my lap. I’ve got a new pot that just finished. Until I get an agent, I will continue to try to find ways to improve my manuscript while working on the draft of the last in the trilogy.
To be absolutely clear: Sacred Blood was planned as the first in a trilogy, but it does stand alone. If a miracle happens and SB gets picked up and a publisher wants more, I will have the other two already drafted out. I’ve got a good reason for not wanting to worry about that later. It’s really easy to tell when a writer tries to fit new events with old ones. In Twilight, the werewolves being werewolves stopped fitting in with the plot, and the way to force them to fit was to suddenly have them no longer be werewolves and only Edward knew. This made no sense. So with my series, I’m working potential problems out now and making edits if needed so that the books fit seamlessly together. My concern isn’t to polish up these other two books, but to get them rough drafted.
Between the sequels, constantly checking my first manuscript to figure out how I can make it better, trying to figure out how I can come up with $3k or more for a good copyeditor (Neil Gaiman told me directly to skip the copyeditor and just attend a six-week class he’s teaching 1,000 miles from where I will at a cost of $5,000 which would also mean I’d have to stop working for that time), on top of a full-time job that right now includes a commission for a gown that will be worn at an official Oscars cast party next weekend, my volunteer work, and dealing with regular life, I am breaking down. Tired in every way. Physically, mentally, even emotionally.
My only escapes are my ballet classes and Pandora, the New Kids on the Block and Boyz II Men stations. Usually the latter it in the car on the way to ballet. On Monday I hurt myself though because some of my worries started creeping in. So I pushed myself too far and pulled a muscle. The pain felt good since it distracted me. I came home, showered for an hour, and went back to writing.
Despite being midnight now, my agenda tonight includes finishing a new chapter for Sacred Heart (the third book), going over one of my Sacred Blood chapters with a finer-toothed comb than the last time I went over it, and sewing about 2,000 beads to a gown (thank goodness I can do a couple at a time).
Don’t misunderstand me. I love what I do. I don’t love the exhaustion that’s been coming with it. If the world didn’t need a strong female lead who gets herself out of abuse instead of embracing a bad situation until she gives in and convinces herself it’s wonderful, then I wouldn’t feel pressure to not waste time. I’ve got several dystopian ideas rattling around in my cranium, but when I write those, they can sit a while. Since an early edition of my manuscript resulted on one beta in a bad relationship getting out and being happy now, I can’t help but hope that if this book can be published and get into people’s hands that it might help others who need it in addition to having a fun, and at times tense, adventure. When it comes to helping, I’m all about sooner rather than later.
Well, that coffee isn’t drinking itself, so back to the grindstone.