What I was supposed to be doing this summer

I really intended to write my next novel this summer. Really. I have it all outlined. I even tweaked the outlined last week and diagrammed characters, settings, and the like. I did.

But life happens. I have all my kids and the stupendous Mr. Klempner all home this summer, and we’ve been busy tidepool-hopping and museum-visiting and swing-pushing and the like. Also, I had a few deadlines to meet on short pieces, so I haven’t been lazy.

Really.

It might be more realistic to keep outlining and diagramming until the kids all head back to school. At that point, I should have more time to sit at the computer and crank out 1,000 words a day. Plus, I want to set aside an hour a day to revise the recently-rejected previously-completed novel. Then I can justify agent hunting.

I’m trying to be patient with all the interruptions and distractions. Just one more month to go, and I should have plenty time to write.

At least, that’s the theory.

Whoa

I’ve just submitted my novel. Whoa. I’m a little freaked out. 

Fear competes with excitement. I’m not sure which is winning, but I have a suspicion that I should really be feeling relaxed. After all, my manuscript’s acceptance is now entirely in G-d’s hands. I did my part: I finally finished the sucker, got it edited by multiple people, revised it, got it proofread, and researched the most suitable publisher to start with (I hope they agree). There’s not much left for me to do, other than pray. And wait.

One of my sources of excitement is that now my writing schedule is wide open for other projects. I have lots of ideas, thank G-d. I kept getting sidetracked by competing writing projects in the last couple months. That is part of what took me so long to finally wrap up this book–that and the multiple viruses that have been afflicting various members of the Klempner household.