Still, the deathmarch looms over me like a big dark loomy thing. 150 more pages on the novel (split with truepenny) and another fifty pages on the novella by month's end. Tomorrow may wind up being the sort of day one spends in one's pajamas, so as not to lose time from work in the minutia of, oh, dressing and so forth.
Really, this is not fun, and I want to be done with it now. God in hell, I hate deadlines.
Actually, that's not true. I don't mind deadlines when they are safely six months off and I have plenty of time to get things done. But the closer the deadline gets, the harder it gets for me to work. I am the opposite of the writer who can only work under pressure.
It is good to have work. I am lucky to have as much work as I can handle. I am actually turning down work.
But I am so very tired of deadline stress.