It’s edging toward eleven, which means I should be asleep by now (author’s note: I’m lame). Instead, I just spent the last forty minutes staring at the ceiling and driving myself crazy with career questions.
What kind of questions, you ask?
How do I make the jump from small press to mass market?
Is it even time to worry about that yet?
Is the latest novel even something the mass market would buy?
If not, why did I write it?
What should I write next?
When’s that one thing going to be announced?
Where’s my banner ad for that one thing?
Where’s my contract for that other thing?
Is the small press really about to collapse?
Is that other thing deserving of a sequel?
Who should I call to research how small town police departments work?
I need more pre-readers… but who?
Or is it “but whom?”
Aren’t I supposed to know that?
When should I worry about an agent?
No really, what should I write next?
See, kids? Being a writer is fun!