Only with less killing.

Last night Vlad was feeling chitty-chatty and told me something I didn’t know, something that lasted about 2,000 words before I became too tired to continue. As of this moment, I can feel him over my shoulder, pacing and nervously glancing at the screen, wondering when it’ll be his turn to talk.

Soon, Vlad. Soon. Just let me blog about you first.

It has been an enormous effort lately for me to write–for reasons I can’t quite go into just yet. I swore that I was different than other writers, that I could write through just about everything (and hoo-boy, have I…). But the submissions process has been new territory for me. I had no idea how strange, stressful, and messed up it can be. Your brain goes to this weird place, this higher plane where all it can think about is what being published means: the self-doubt, the fear of success, the dear-goddess-people-will-come-to-expect-things-from-me-now-and-I’m-not-sure-I-can-deliver-them-what-if-this-book-was-a-fluke-and-I’m-just-a-hack feeling. It’s awful. Plus, it screws with the muse.

I’d begun to think that a successful writing day from now on would mean 50 words or more, that my writing had changed forever. But, once again, pass me the friggin’ tiara, because it was just another writer/drama queen moment. All is well in the land of Vlad. The Lightbulb of Inspiration has flickered on once again and all is right with the world.

Now if only I had a maid…

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