I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve got a book 99% fin­ished. The end is so close I could write it in a few hours. Why then, am I not doing just that? I keep find­ing oth­er things to occu­py myself. A shiny new romance book taunts me from my desk­top. Just one more tweak on the web­site. One 140 char­ac­ter tweet on twit­ter. Maybe I’ll just check face­book to see what’s going on. Noth­ing? That’s okay, I have forums to haunt, peo­ple to send sense­less text mes­sages, and maybe a movie or two to watch.

I’m pret­ty sure the trou­ble lies in the stress that comes with a fin­ished book. If I have one in progress, then I’m “writ­ing”. Once it’s fin­ished, I have to fig­ure out where I want to sub­mit it. Once I’ve decid­ed that I have to actu­al­ly do the work to send it in (if the pub requires a syn­op­sis, that’s a whole ‘nother issue!) Then comes the worst part.

WAITING. The fact that after sub­mit­ting to a pub­lish­er, I have to wait two to six months to hear a yes or no…nerve wrack­ing to say the least. Maybe sub­con­scious­ly I’m putting off the stress of wait­ing, when real­ly I should fin­ish the darn thing so I can get the wait­ing over with. Now I’m search­ing the Inter­net for a slap in the face. Let’s hope I don’t get distracted.