Don’t think. Don’t think. Dontthinkdontthinkdontthink.
But what’s it going to be like tomorrow?
You’re thinking. Stop thinking.
But Donald Maass! And a whole room full of writers you don’t know!
Thinking! I insist that you stop.
And meeting Maleesha. And like three days after that of writerly stuff. Including some scary writerly stuff that I can’t predict and don’t even know how to worry about.
Ahem. The bed’s pretty comfy here, you know. And Enya’s playing. Comforting and familiar, like she was when you were 12.
And taking notes in my new journal, and wearing my new clothes, with a wacky unearthed confidence, and no need to think about anything but The Work for like four whole days, and hoteling it up…
THIS IS THINKING. I INSIST THAT YOU STOP THINKING AND SLEEP. IT’S AFTER MIDNIGHT IN YOUR EAST-COAST BODY.
And my silver shoes! And getting to talk about my book to a bunch of different people. What’s it going to be like? What’s going to happen? What am I going to learn? Who am I going to meet?
Are you hearing me at all? Shut the hell up and go to sleep!
Hamster brain hamster brain. La la la, Colorado. Doo dee doo, people I talked to at the airport(s) today. Stuffed-up nose dry eyes slight headache finished that book didn’t like it. Tap-dancing thoughts, la dee dah dee dah.
Oh hell. Maybe if I set this down and figure out a way to post it in my blog, I'll be able to muzzle you.