Eight of Wands

So I leave for RWA at the asscrack of dawn on Tuesday, and I am currently… overwhelmed.

Things to do:

Dye hair.

Do nails. (This has turned into a family event, much to Mate’s chagrin.)

Grocery shopping for family.

Last minute shopping for me.

Soccer meeting for Squish.

Trip to the fair so kids can perform.

Find dance costumes and shoes so kids can perform.

Finish an incoming edit.

Have 20K on current project.

Walk the dogs, do the laundry, fold the laundry, decide what I’m wearing.

Find my good shoes.

Prepare and send out my blog tour for Red Fish, Dead Fish. 



I’m so going under.

The kids keep trying to talk to me and I’m a million miles away.


I’m going to leave you with a story of Mate and why he’s awesome.

I was talking about my current project, and all of the things I wanted to write and how I wanted to market stuff and how I wanted to branch out and… and I started hyperventilating because consequences beget consequences and you have to deal with those consequences and even more consequences happen…

It’s terrifying.

And Mate said, “Stop it. Just write the story. It’s like freaking out in case you win the lottery. Nobody wins the lottery and if you do win the lottery it usually ruins your life. Just work every day and play and enjoy yourself. It’ll happen–or it won’t. We’ll be fine.”

He’s a wise man, my Mate.

But he’s wrong. I already won the lottery.  I married him.

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