Now that the holidays are (mostly) over, my delusion is that I’ll be able to jump back into writing and finally finish that novel I’ve been working on for the past 18 months. If I religiously devote just an hour a day, I should have the rewrite done by the end of January.
You know, provided that the sky doesn’t randomly open up and start raining killer sharks or anything like that. Life knows how to be a bitch, so I’m always reticent to make any sort of announcements about the future, only to follow up with a “Lol, jk.” I guess this reflects how many killer sharks I’ve dealt with over the last umpteen years.
But anyway, tentatively speaking, I should start “promoting” in February, and let slip what all my vague references were about all along. That way, this novel can be over with and out of my hair so I can have my new baby in peace.
And start my next novel during all those hours I’ll be off my feet with a newborn. What can I say? My mind is always brimming with stories to tell, and sleep deprivation is a fantastic channel for inspiration, lol.