I’m in a bit of a funk. Things were going swimmingly on the catching up front through the holidays, and Christmas and all its craziness in particular. I didn’t think the New Year’s weekend would be particularly difficult to at least maintain the possibility of keeping pace, but things went quite off the rails, time moved faster than I expected (or I moved slower) and suddenly, I’m behind schedule, considerably.
I’ve set a target date of January 17th as the date to have a workable manuscript of Dead Talker, but at this point, I’m at least eight or nine days behind on that, in addition to a couple of projects and short stories I have on the go. I haven’t been able to find any time to pursue actual networking, the thing that will ultimately make or break any kind of literary career, no matter how much I despise the process.
Add to that some post-holiday depression, which I’m becoming increasingly convinced has far more to do with food and alcohol for me than I previously suspected. Depression is often considered psychological; I think in my case, a very large portion of it is food-related, low blood sugar or post-party crash.
The sooner I get back on a regular diet and back to sensible levels of alcohol, the better, I think, if I’m to meet my deadline.