Do you ever have one of those days where you just can’t stop thinking about sex? You assault your spouse or [romantic euphemism here] until they tell you to back away from the box of condoms and just go freaking make dinner already? You cook sausages and bananas and don’t think it’s weird? You rub one out and it just doesn’t help? If anything it makes it worse? You need to focus, but you keep thinking how much that sounds like “fuck us” and you think, yes, I need to fuck all y’all, get in my pants, and then you realize you’ve missed your exit. Again. What the heck. Is it hormonal? Stars aligning? Look, sex-brain, I’ve got, like, things to do. Leave me alone already.
Of course it’s probably just that I am mere pages from finishing this draft of the current novel. Yeah, it’s DISTRACTION. Let’s be honest.
But this novel, it’s like peeing molasses. I started back in 2013 and I’m just on the second (third?) draft (shoot me now), but hey, I am writing the FINAL CHAPTER, so that’s something. It freaking is, so shut up. Yes, I know, after this draft, it’s beta readers, then another draft, then my editor, then another draft, then more beta readers, then final tweaks (because hopefully by then I’m getting mostly thumbs up from my betas), and THEN its done. So yeah, that’s a fuck-load more work, really, isn’t it. But still, I’m closing in on the second draft and that feels like a completion! Yeah! GIMME SOME FUCKING CAKE. Or a couple dozen orgasms would be good, too….
Listen up, Lassiter! The goal is to get this book out by the end of the year! Quit this fooling around and get to work!
Oh yeah, the drill sergeant approach, that will totally work. Because I nail all my self-imposed deadlines, like the thirty or so that I’ve already blown past on this novel alone. And now I’m thinking about nailing drill sergeants.
Anyway, I’ve been not so much with the blogging because there is this momentum at the end of a novel that takes me over and I abandon my family, my yoga practice, my sleep, and my BLOG because I just can’t stop sneaking away to try to get a few more words in and I can’t think about anything else. Except sex.
Which I think is just a smoke screen, don’t you? This muse chick is just messing with me. Maybe it’s a metaphor for the creative process heating up or something. Maybe I need to end the novel with a big orgy scene. All the great novels end with a big orgy scene, don’t they?
Jesus, what have I been reading.
Am I like this at the end of all my novels?
You know what? It doesn’t matter. Back to work.