It’s after ten and the web site is up, the PC runs like a top, the wife is at work, the cats are asleep and my day is free for writing. There’s no contracting work today, no email from Spike, or Tech guy to distract me. It’s just me and the PC. That’s all I need.

All I need today is a PC and eight hours of quiet. Well, maybe I’ll need lunch at some point, but that’s it. A PC, eight hours, and lunch. And a snack too. I might even need that snack before lunch. So it’s a PC, eight hours of quiet, a snack and lunch.

I’ll need the Internet too, in case I need to research. But that’s all. A PC, eight hours, snack, lunch, Internet. And a comfy chair. Wait. Come to think of it, I’m not sure this chair can handle eight hours of abuse. It’s been squeaking a lot lately. Ergonomics are essential to the thought process. I better get a new on. Good thing I’ve got that Internet connection….

This was the first day in the long time that the only thing I’ve written was the blog. That may be a point to consider for me. Sometimes irrelevant details get in the way of the whole picture and when the problems flare up. In those moments, I should take a step back and try and budget time for the big things first, like writing, rather than inverting priorities just because something urgent to push one problem to the head of the line. Most of the time urgent problems linger for awhile anyway, and I waste time trying to micromanage something that can’t be managed because it was out of my control in the first place.

Anyway, if I let myself focus on the problem too much, I wind up with another one, which is I don’t get done all that I would like. One problem or another got in the way of writing this book for years until I was in a place where I couldn’t take the problems anymore. Not writing became it’s own problem. In the end, not writing was harder than writing. I just went with writing.

Dinner with the professor and the wife Friday was fantastic. She had some good ideas about the screnplay though, we didn’t discuss it much. The wife and the professor connect in a positive way and it’s obvious that each is interested in the opinion of the other. It’s always nice when they people you respect, respect each other. Of course, I respect and admire the professor too. Not to put words in their mouth, but I’m going to go out on a limb and speculate that the professor thinks what I’m doing with the book is a little crazy because the odds are long. But I think the odds of becoming a tenured professor at a major university are longer. They have to publish to get that far anyway, plus teach a full course load and that’s just what I know about. I’m sure there are other endless requirements to get tenure. All that sounds a lot harder than what I’m doing.

Most of the time, I don’t think about the odds. The odds aren’t in my control. Sometimes, you just gotta believe anyway. No matter what, you gotta believe.

I worked nonstop this weekend and made all the edits to the book suggested by the editor person. In a little while I’ll print out the revised fourth draft. Because of the brief turnaround time it doesn’t feel like a full revision cycle, so I’m calling this go round the fourth draft, version two. Tonight I’ll drop the pages off at the editor person’s place and hope for the best. They promised a one week turnaround. That means I have some dead time, so I’ll probably add some more content to the site and finish up the outline for the second book. And blog.
I’m very happy about the last round of changes. At the same time, I’m well, terrified. This is almost it with the edits, showtime is coming fast. I gotta get ready to let my baby fly out there and mingle amongst the wolves. My love affair with the possibilities of what the book could be, must end. Whatever it is next week, is how it is. I have to move on to the next step.
The possibility of rejection is starting to feel pretty real. It’s on the horizon. When it comes down to it, writing a book is one of the few things you can do with such megalomaniacal overtones. The bet the writer makes is that someone will care about their book, but until they submit it and find out, they’re a minority of one. It’s a pretty isolating feeling. Really isolating. Still something pushes the writer to submit. What else could that be but some latent streak of megalomania or masochism? Of course they want my book! Yes, my chances of success are 100 percent. Law of averages? Doesn’t apply to me. I’m exempt you see. So like every writer who has ever tried to sell a book probably has done, I too must reassure myself. Anyway, I need to get my daily dose of caffeine…