it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken
matociquala

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But here you are in the ninth, two men out and three men on, nowhere to look but inside--

I contemplated for a long while posting this under a lock, because it's more personal than I usually get online, but I figured it's pretty decent insight into the stresses of your average writer's life, and it might be helpful to somebody.

I made myself a little list tonight, in the midst of my three-day anxiety attack, about why I might in fact be justified in being stressed out (although I never seem to actually think I'm under much stress), which include good things and very good things and slightly annoying things. Most of which I have not been taking seriously as sources of stress. But.

Perhaps I should have been.
  1. Cross-country relocation probable for some unspecified date this fall or winter, but still very much up in the air
  2. Working a 20-hour-a-week job on top of the writing gig, which is something like 70 hours a week
  3. Currently fretting about a minor cash-flow crisis that involves waiting for money I am owed to arrive, hopefully in time to cover the large chunk of bills due at the end of the month, which must be paid, and all very much up in the air
  4. Major personal upheavals, most of them not particularly interesting, but related to (1), and all very much up in the air
  5. Various other major and minor expenses expected in the next six months, which I can afford, if the checks come at the right time, always a burning question in the gig.
  6. Second novel deathwatch. T-20 days. Will they hate it? Did I mention, very much up in the air.
  7. Whiskey & Water deadline Oct. 1 (firm)
  8. Carnival deadline Nov. 15 (firm)
  9. Blood & Iron rewrite on hold pending Liz's comments, air
  10. Stratford Man rewrite on hold pending Jenn's comments, air
  11. Judging the CHIZINE fiction contest. Which is fun, but it's also something that takes time and mental power. Likewise my slush duties at IDEO. Not that I am complaining about either: it's volunteer work, and I really do love it. But it's a ticky box.
  12. Campbell Award deathwatch. I'm reasonably certain that I'm not going to win, mind you. But the miniscule but real potential that I could win keeps me from dismissing the entire thing as silliness and not thinking about it at all. Thank the deity of your choice that it's August this year, instead of September. But that's still two more months that it's up in the air. Did I mention that I am, generally speaking, the sort who prefers a single exquisitely painful rip to a series of agonizing jerks?
  13. SFRA (firm)
  14. ComiCon (if I can afford it) (air)
  15. Book signing thing in Minneapolis and Toronto first two weeks of July, assuming that I'm not too broke to afford the plane tickets. (should be firm, but is sliding into air, and I do not want to cancel those dates, dammit.)

The funny thing was, I was actually doing all right until I got back from WisCon and the check I was hoping for wasn't here yet. Which money I rather need in about a week. And I suspect that was the tipping point, along with the ugly Hot Dog Incident, that sent me into a full blown anxiety attack.

So if I've been a twit to anybody in the last three days, I am terribly sorry. It wasn't intended. And it certainly wasn't personal.

The good news is that between making the list, thus justifying myself that it's not unreasonable to be a little freaked, as I really do have a lot of things going on this month, and an email from the editor in charge of the publication that I was hoping would send me money soon, very politely inquiring as to whether I had been paid, and my own spiritual maintenance routine, I may have convinced my limbic system that the sabertooth cats are not about to eat us. Just this second. Yet.

We'll see how I feel in the morning.

In other news, truepenny tears August Derleth a new one.

In other other news, thank God that writing is not a performance art.

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